


Priestess of Pars

by Jiryu_Rasen



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 57,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiryu_Rasen/pseuds/Jiryu_Rasen
Summary: Who, and even more, *what* might Arslan's mother have been? A rewrite of the prophecy of Pars that led to the downfall of Andragoras, why Arslan was the proper heir, and how it came about. Also a little about what happened after Arslan came to the throne of Pars as the rightful King of Pars when he finally learns that he does, indeed, have a family to call his own.In the end, it's a romance for Daryun, but I wanted to explore the brief views we were given early on (in the first season of the anime) that there might be something deeper to Arslan's story than just war and conflict between nations because of an internal royal family battle. I'm only working from the first four English-translation manga volumes and the first season of the anime (through episode 25). Everything after that time-frame is completely made up out of my head.
Kudos: 5





	1. Sisters of Destiny

"Why must you leave the Sacred Mountain, Sister Nefiseta!?" Neylan hung on her older sister's shoulders, trying to use her arms and her own weight to hold her beloved sister to her, to keep her with her always. "You are Sibeli, the Prophetess and Priestess! Out in the world is darkness, anger, pain, and death. Stay, for our sake, stay!"

Melike patted her younger sister on the head, their shared shining white hair fluffing up under her hand. "My Aysegül. Smile for me and live. The Goddess named us, and rightly so. We are Aiyla and Aylin. I am made to be the rod of strength that will punish the usurpers as prophesied, for they will not be able to turn their desires from me.

"When I have done my task and have paved the way, you must then be prepared to do your part. Be the Kader Pars needs, even all the world. I am Alula, you are Amal. Fill your role properly, with strength and wisdom so that my sacrifice is not in vain, Silaah."

Neylan buried her head in her sister's shoulder and cried hot tears. "I am not ready to take your place as Priestess. I am still weak."

Melike pet Neylan's head comfortingly, but said nothing for a time. Finally she sighed lightly. "Even so, I must go now. The signs have been given and the priests of the god of destruction and darkness have begun to move. If we don't move at this time we will be too late to save Pars and the whole of this world. It must be now, Nefiseta."

Melike's warm arms held her younger sister tightly, as if she would stay, but all too soon they released Neylan and lifted her so that the violet eyes could look into the blue ones that shone with the tears that they shed.

"Smile for me one more time Aysegül," Melike said softly, "so that I have one to hold in my heart and remember during the most difficult times."

Neylan worked hard to calm her sobs so that she could give her beloved sister the smile she treasured. "I will work hard to become Sibeli, so that I can watch over you. I will pray constantly to the Goddess in your behalf," she promised.

Melike smiled a soft smile. "Thank you, Aysegül. Please, also have the strength to obey Her when She tasks you with that which is required to bring right to the wrong that was done those generations ago. I will leave it to you to see that we can become properly Fatiha and Seher Silaah."

As Melike's pale, beautiful form faded from the decorated living chamber of the priestess of the goddess who watched over Pars, Neylan forced herself to continue to smile until her sister could no longer be seen nor felt. Then she collapsed into the soft pillows and wept on her arms, sorrowing that the time had come. The time foretold long before when the kings of Pars had been killed in treachery and a usurper had taken their place.

The sisters held the blood of those first kings in their own veins. It was their price to pay to see that the proper rulership was returned to the land for the sake of the people. Still, that night Neylan cursed that ancestor that had mated with the line of priestesses to see that this time long foretold would come. Only in the Sacred Mountain had there been any protection for that line from the priests of the god of chaos and destruction.

Only in the Sacred Mountain could those evil men not encroach, and now her beloved sister was made to be where they would see her, know the family still existed. If they had begun to move, they believed they had their own champion in hand to see their own prophecy would come to pass - the death and destruction of humanity and the rebirth of the "dragon". It was the fate of both sides of their bloodlines that they prevent it from happening.

* * *

1\. Nefiseta (Tk): precious, valuable.  
2\. Neylan (Tk): the person who accomplished the desires.  
3\. Melike (Tk): female sovereign ruler, the wife of the king.  
4\. Aysegül (Tk): she who lives + smile/rose.  
5\. Aiyla (Tk): moonlight or moon halo, a beautiful girl who is a strong fighter and is so easy to fall in love with. Aylin (Tk): moon halo; the one that belongs to the moon, light.  
6\. Kader (Tk): fate, destiny.  
7\. Alula (Arb): the first step, the firstborn. Amal (Arb): Hope or aspiration.  
8\. Silaah (Tk): to be reunited.  
9\. Fatiha/Fathiya (Arb): beginning or first (as in firstborn or first rays of the sun) (rebirth). Sahar/Seher (Arb/Per): morning, dawn, or awakening (rebirth).


	2. Tahameny

A priestess of the Goddess did not age until her daughter had learned enough to take her place. Then she was allowed to let go of life to return to the Goddess. The temple where she lived was deep inside the Sacred Mountain. The old volcanic center opened up to the sky so they could watch the sunlight during the day and worship the moon at night in the most sacred of places within the temple.

The servants rarely ever left the mountain, save the few who went to fetch needed supplies. The priestess only left the mountain when the Goddess required it. For many generations that had been only when it was time for the priestess to become pregnant with a daughter so she could soon rest from her labors.

When Melike and Neylan's mother had been told to leave the Sacred Mountain a second time, after already having one daughter, all of the temple was shocked. She'd been obedient, however. She'd already understood when her firstborn had been named by the Goddess. _Melike_ meant "female sovereign ruler, the wife of the king". If the firstborn was to be a wife to a king, she wouldn't be allowed to stay to become the next priestess. A second daughter would be needed to fill that role.

When the Goddess named the second daughter _Neylan_ , "the person who accomplishes the desires", rather than _Sibeli_ , "a prophetess or an oracle", their mother and many servants felt their hearts fall. Many nights they trembled, many days and nights they cast their oracles. Constantly they kept watch over the Mountain of the Dragon.

Melike had the office of Sibeli passed to her when their mother died because Neylan wasn't yet ready, being still too young. Melike had been taught by their mother stringently and she was no less stringent on Neylan, but because they were sisters it still wasn't the same. Neylan was the weaker of the two, and the more compassionate of the two as well.

Melike had despaired, but when she took it to the Goddess, the Goddess reminded her that her name was _Aiyla_ , the beautiful and strong fighter. Her sister was meant to be _Aylin_ , the one who belonged to the Goddess. Melike tried to find comfort in that as she left the Sacred Mountain. Her soft-hearted sister would be protected.

Most of Melike's lessons with the Goddess had been warnings, teachings to help her become that strength she would need to be. To understand the weaknesses of men, to understand the strength of silent women, to only turn her heart to the Goddess because all men who would think to touch her and own her would be cursed for the land's sake. It would be a difficult life, but she knew Neylan couldn't do it.

She'd also seen the past - when the dragon had roamed the earth and the evil priests had power over the people. Melike could never allow that to come to pass again. She would stand in her place to see that all of the prophecies of the past came to be.

When Melike opened her eyes after the Goddess had taken her from her first home, she lifted them to see a garden. Her veil was on her head. She wore her simple white dress that covered her completely to her wrists and ankles. A golden bracelet was on her wrist, golden bells on her ankle, and golden earrings were in her earlobes. No smile came on her lips, even though the garden was beautiful, the birds in it cheerful, and the scent of the flowers entrancing.

As her eyes passed over her surroundings, seeing the tall protecting walls of a city far beyond the hedges of the garden, her eyes were caught by the eyes of a man frozen in place just outside the entrance to the garden. Melike stared at him for a moment, noting the fancy clothing, embroidered with many colors, the rings on his fingers, and the gold chain around his neck.

When he didn't stop staring at her, she finally looked away from him to continue to look at the garden around her. The intake of the man's breath meant he was just waking up since she'd released his gaze. She sighed to herself. It was going to be too simple. The priestesses of the Goddess were blessed with beauty.

When the man imposed on her to walk with him after trying to draw her out into conversation, Melike rose to her feet. She was in need of movement. From that moment on men were fighting for her. Only the strongest and greatest of men had the power to make her their wife. But none of them did she love, nor give regard to. Her only role was to bring the chaos blind lust brought with it.

The third man who vied for her favor didn't like her name, so renamed her. That was fine. Melike was used to having many names. _Tahameny_ was sufficiently royal in the ears of the kings who eventually fought over her.


	3. Heir by Birth

Neylan spent her first years in lessons with the Goddess, watching over the royal family of Pars, and watching over her sister when she had any free time. It was hard for her to watch Melike become colder and colder, more and more withdrawn, as she was used as a pawn to create the chaos that fed the priests of chaos. It was a necessary evil so that the prophecy might be fulfilled.

The usurper kings had created the chaos. They were cursed with the same chaos when it was time for the return to the proper kings of Pars. Neylan watched through the Goddess' eyes as the priests used their spells, magics, and eventually lying tongues to affect Pars and the nations around them. Most people didn't know they were the force behind what was happening as the wars increased.

She also watched as the king of Pars was murdered by his brother, Andragoras, who took his throne. The king's son, Hilmes, was also to be murdered, but the priests of chaos had been participant through the whole insurrection.

As flames licked up to consume the heir to the king, the priests used their magic to steal him away safely into their own temple deep in the roots of their mountain, dark and heavy. Neylan shivered as the Goddess made her understand that they had chosen Hilmes to be their champion of chaos.

When the Goddess taught Neylan how to prepare her body to bear a child a little over a year later, she was a little confused, although she did know she would have to know how eventually. It was answered on what seemed a normal late evening as Neylan went to converse with the Goddess in the most holy room, beneath the full moon.

She was shown a vision of a man and told, "You will lie with him and have a son. He will I raise up to be the right and proper heir of Pars, destined to bring peace again to the nation and the region."

Neylan wasn't quite sure she was ready for that. So far, she'd only seen the lust, avarice, and greed of men as she'd watched her sister pass from one to another as they poisoned, murdered, and stole to have Melike as their own. Doubt filled Neylan, and she prayed fervently to understand, to receive some comfort that her son wouldn't be from yet another man who was better off dead than alive.

The Goddess was merciful to an innocent virgin, and Neylan was quite grateful. She was allowed to dream for three nights. In each dream, she was shown what kind of man the Goddess had picked. He was of fair features and was honest and noble in his dealings with others. He was also unmarried. That relieved Neylan quite a lot. She didn't want to cause the sorrow in a man's wife that she'd seen in the wives of those men who'd coveted her sister enough to leave their wives to have her.

"He also has within him the blood of the first and rightful kings," the Goddess further reassured Neylan. "The son will be properly the heir." That was even more relieving. Before allowing Neylan to leave the Sacred Mountain, the Goddess had her learn one other thing - taking two weeks to teach it. It took the first three days to get past the embarrassment and most of the rest of the time to understand it was natural and the acceptable way to the society of Pars for her to lay with a man without having him expect to have her as a permanent wife. That wasn't her role in this time of fulfilment. She would be a courtesan when outside the mountain.

When Neylan finally could draw a breath and submit to the will of the Goddess, she was prepared. For three days she fasted. For three nights she performed the ritual required for her body to be prepared to be a vessel for a child. At the end of the day of the fourth night, she was taken by the Goddess to the house the man had been invited to eat the evening meal at.

The chosen father of the child was just leaving the dinner party, slightly drunk on the fine wine he'd been served. Neylan was dressed in the simple white dress of the Priestess. Her beautiful curls of white hair were uncovered. A light veil over the lower half of her face made her brilliant blue eyes stand out even in the torchlight of the street.

She reached out a hand from behind him and lightly ran her fingers on the back of the man's arm. "Are you headed home, then?" she asked in a smooth voice. "Was the event enjoyable?" The man's head turned and his eyes fixed on her, any objection to being interrupted completely washed away by the sight of the beauty before him. "Perhaps I can be of help in making the night complete?" She snuggled up closer to him, slipping her hand down into his.

His hand tightened on hers and he gave a little shudder. His breath rushed into his lungs as if he'd forgotten to breathe until then. Still, he was sufficiently upright enough to pause. "And what payment would be expected? I've not got the time to take on a wife."

Neylan shook her head. "A single night would be sufficient, if I could have a son. But I would expect you to not concern yourself with us. I have no need for a husband, nor would I trouble you any more than a single night of ecstasy."

He frowned slightly. "Only one night for a son? I would think I would want more payment than that, to give up an heir."

Neylan hesitated and asked the Goddess in her heart for the right answer. "Two nights, no more than three, or you'll come to desire it too much and wish to claim us both, when I wish for the right of no claim at all."

"Two is barely sufficient. Three, I think," he countered.

Neylan hesitated just a little longer. "We shall see," she answered. "Two for certain. The Goddess will decide if you are worthy of the third."

At the mention of the Goddess, the man looked Neylan up and down one more time. A light of understanding seemed to come into his eyes. Perhaps his family had told the tales of the original prophecy and of the Goddess in whispers to each other if they truly did have the blood of the proper kings in them.

It was told in those tales of the priestesses who came for a single night to lie with a man to bear a daughter. To bear a son would be a different thing. Neylan said no more on the matter, however, and played her proper part as he walked her to his house and took her to his bedroom.

She went the second night, but the Goddess told her to not go the third. He was devising a trap to prevent her from leaving him, as she'd been warned might happen. Neylan was somewhat relieved to be able to remain home, and be reassured it was sufficient.

Nine months later a son was born to Neylan. The Goddess named him Arslan, the lion who would return to rule Pars in peace, once he'd rent his enemies and restored the land to proper balance. For three years Neylan nursed Arslan, taught him to speak, and to honor his mother.

In the third year, a devout couple who served the Goddess in the mountain were selected to be Arslan's caretakers. The Goddess had them take Arslan into Pars, into a village near the capital city of Ecbatana. There they lived so that Arslan could grow up understanding the people and way of life of Pars.

Neylan now watched over two of her beloved family. She had come to love her son deeply, learning what it was to love a male for all they were different than herself and her sister.


	4. Heir by Contract

Arslan was nearly eight when King Andragoras III spoke to Queen Tahameny, asking when she would present him with an heir. She didn't answer that first time. She did go to the Goddess in prayer, however. It was a reasonable request of a king to his wife, even if he had gained her by underhanded and wicked means. She would be set aside if she didn't comply. Only the Goddess knew if that was the proper path. Her path had already been very long and wearying.

Melike was shown her sister Neylan holding a babe in her arms, then a boy child playing in the streets of a village. The location of that village was made known to her, and the faces of the caretakers of the child.

The next time the king came to her to speak of an heir, she answered him, "For all of the many husbands I have had, I cannot bear a child. However my sister has borne a son in my behalf. Let him be your heir."

Andragoras' dark and very bushy eyebrows rose high in surprise. "And will it be questioned that he is of your family?" he asked.

"No, my lord," Melike bowed her head to him. "He also has the white hair of my family." It was a common thing during that time. A marriage was a contract specifically set for heirs to be born. If the wife couldn't conceive, then a handmaiden or a close family member was required to fulfill the contract in behalf of the wife. If the husband died before providing the wife with offspring, then his closest family was required to complete the contract in his behalf, similarly.*

"You really have not had any children, for all the husbands you've had?" the king asked, curious.

"No, my lord," she answered humbly - for her. It was hard to care enough to be humble to any man, particularly him. The king was large, rough, brutish, and prideful to a fault, with little to call beauty but perhaps enough to be considered noble in looks if not in personality.

"Then that will be acceptable," Andragoras finally said, although he didn't look very thrilled by the requirement. He would surely prefer to have a son of his own body. Perhaps he would find a courtesan who would give him one, although that would be looked on less favorably than a son of his queen. Melike wouldn't mind. She usually tried to discourage him from coming to her bed, or calling her to his.

Melike told him where to find the child, described his caretakers, and said that he would have white hair and blue eyes. A month later, the young Arslan was in the castle, his eyes wide at having been told he was the son of the King and Queen of Pars.

For all he was her sister's son, Melike could find no attachment to Arslan. He was just another male who would likely grow up haughty like all the nobles of Pars. Still, she did try to be at least somewhat kind when she did have to interact with him, for her sister's sake. She didn't like to be in his presence for long. It only reminded her that she missed her beloved sister terribly and it wasn't time for them to reunite as of yet. She still needed to remain strong.

Because Arslan was officially the heir, there was no point in telling him who his real parents were. Melike had no idea who his father was anyway. To Arslan, Andragoras and Tahameny were his parents and that was sufficient for him to know.

* * *

* _Yes, a real practice of marriages and their contracts. Almost all Old Testament marriages were of this kind. (Thus how poor Jacob/Israel ends up with four women bearing him children - all because his favorite wife couldn't bear children for so long, so she gives him her handmaiden to fulfill the contract, which makes the non-favored wife - who had already borne several children - jealous enough to force her handmaiden on Jacob as well. Four women all jealous of each other when he'd only wanted the one wife to begin with. Poor guy. Not the only example from the ancient Hebrew times, but the most famous and drama-filled one. Ruth and Boaz are an example of the opposite side, where the closest male relative is required to met the contract when the original husband couldn't.)_


	5. A Second Son

When Andragoras took his forces to war against the Lusitanians when Arslan was eleven, Neylan was watching. By now she was the full Priestess of the Goddess, having been taught all the mysteries and the few spells granted by the Goddess to her representation on the earth. They weren't as great as those the priests of chaos used, but they were sufficient for the requirements and needs of the Goddess.

As Neylan pondered on the events of the successful campaign, the Goddess came and visited with her in a vision. "That was the test. The next time the Lusitanians come, they will prevail because the priests of chaos will put their champion at their head. He is nearly ready to reclaim his throne and bring the chaos foretold to the throne and the land of Pars.

"It's time for the next preparation for what is to come. Erān* Vahriz has been honorable, loyal, and valiant." Neylan knew that head commander and high lord. He was the one who saw to the military training of her son in the castle. She agreed with the Goddess wholeheartedly on that assessment.

"Arslan will need such men with him when it's time for the chaos to begin, and he will need men who will stand with him when he is old, to support him." The Goddess paused, then added, "And we also will need to have things in place should the priests prevail against us. For all this is the time foretold, they are working hard to see their own prophecy comes to pass. We will need our own champion if Arslan should fall, rather than be left to let the world fall to ruin."

Neylan drew in a sharp breath. She didn't want to even think of her firstborn son falling to death so young. She immediately prayed a prayer of protection for him, for then and into the future. It was accepted, but it didn't change the requirement given to her.

"Erān Vahriz is too old to have children, but he has a nephew who is a Marzbān among Marzbān.** You will go to Daryun and have a son by him to stand with Arslan. If Arslan should fall, then Daryun's son's strength can be used to remove the evil priests from the land."

Neylan fretted for several days. Arslan constantly worried that he was too weak to become the next king of Pars. In battle strength, it was true, but the prophecy wasn't about a warrior king. It might take a warrior if the priests won at the first, though.

Finally Neylan bit her lip, straightened her shoulders, and spent a month watching Daryun to see his daily patterns. When she learned he was to be sent out on a mission, she hurried to be prepared before he was to leave the capital city. Three days she fasted and three nights she prepared her body.

The night before the day Daryun was to leave the city, Neylan watched from the Sacred Mountain as he left his post in the castle, walked to his rooms, and accepted the usual glass of wine from his servant. He wasn't given much to drinking to excess, but even the few he did have would be enough for her needs.

Neylan was pleased with the choice of fathers for her second son. He was loyal, kind, handsome, and married to his sword and his oath of fealty. He wouldn't want a wife to stay and burden him. However, he would also refuse her like he refused women generally if she tried to play the courtesan with him without additional help.

When Daryun had waved his servant out of his quarters, the servant having lowered the lighting in the room in preparation for Daryun sleeping, Neylan stepped from the Sacred Mountain into his room. This time she was dressed in only a white breast band and a white skirt that was low on her hips. A long veil covered her hair.

Daryun was removing his clothing as he walked towards his bed. Neylan remained very silent, hiding her presence for now. Her lips began to move, silently chanting the spell for confusion. It would cloud Daryun's mind just enough he would wake in the morning thinking perhaps the visit had only been a dream.

Daryun's firm muscles in his back and arms rippled as he pulled his shirt off over his head. Neylan's eyes were captured by the motion. She'd never seen such well-defined muscles before. She was walking towards him before she even knew it.

Whether it was a soft foot fall, or because of Daryun's honed warrior senses that kept him alive, she didn't know. He turned quickly to look at her, stepping back a step as he did so, as if to put distance between himself and a potential enemy. At first several emotions warred on his face. He wanted to distrust a person so suddenly in his room, but to have it be an exquisite beauty of a woman, obviously unarmed, he was conflicted.

"Marzbān Daryun," Neylan said quietly, "I mean you no harm. Please forgive my sudden intrusion, but I have a requirement only you can fulfill."

That made him confused, but also made him pause long enough for her to keep talking. She wasn't sure her confusion spell had worked very well on him, so she kept assuming he was still in his right mind and thinking clearly. She wasn't interested in dying. He could kill her without his sword, which he was still slightly inching towards where it lay near the side of his bed.

"I know that you are loyal to Pars. The Goddess who watches over Pars wishes to reward that loyalty, and the loyalty and honor of your uncle."

"My uncle?" Daryun froze and stiffened just a little in surprise. The firming of the muscles on his chest and stomach caught Neylan's attention again and it was a bit before she could answer.

She tried to make it look like she'd been gracefully considering how to answer, gesturing with a beautifully white arm to tempt him. "It isn't right for such nobility and loyalty to end with you, who will not look to any woman to take a wife." She dared to take another step towards him and tempt him more with the movement. He was suddenly as enthralled as she'd been by him.

"Give me a son so your uncle may have a grandson. I will require you to not concern yourself with either of us. You have important things to be doing that will only be distracted from if you have a wife and children. Be content in knowing you have blessed your uncle with the blessings of the Goddess, who desires to reward him in his old age."

Neylan held still and waited for Daryun to consider her proposal, only shifting slightly to draw his eyes to her beauty again when it looked like he needed just a little more encouragement. It was enough, the full sum including whatever push the Goddess had added. He held out his hand to her and she put hers in it.

It was a firm hand, used to commanding a sword and men. She couldn't have escaped the grasp if she wanted to, save by magics. She wasn't sure she wanted to, this night. She was pleased to please him, and sorry to understand when it was over that it had been sufficient. Whether or not he remembered in the morning, he would be free of any concern. She wouldn't be back again.

* * *

*erān (noble title): head commander, military lord

**marzbān (noble title): cavalry general


	6. A Third Son

Merkan* was born nine months later. Neylan raised him as she had Arslan, and loved him as much. He was dark haired like his father, but had the blue eyes of Neylan. He was more rambunctious and stronger than Arslan had been, but she'd rather expected he would be.

Before Merkan was two, the Lusitanians began to prepare to come against Pars again. Neylan watched with a sorrowing heart as the visions showed her that Hilmes was in the front as a general. He was supported by the priests of chaos. She cried for the sons and fathers of Pars who fell in the inevitable and horrible battle when they came together.

She worried greatly over her sister, and was very relieved when the Goddess heard her pleas and Melike was kept alive by the enemies of Pars. She certainly didn't envy her sister becoming the object of affections of such a putrid and largely obese man as the king of Lusitania. Her sister wasn't enjoying it at all, either, she could tell.

"Why did he come to the capital of Pars himself?" she asked the Goddess. Surely such a weak and timid man should have stayed home.

"It is part of the plan of the priests of chaos. He has been talked into it by those who hear their words. Chaos will now reign in Ecbatana until Arslan arrives to set things right," Neylan was answered. She settled. It, too, was part of the prophecy.

Neylan watched over her son, sorrowing over the death of Vahriz with Arslan. She was relieved when Daryun followed the advice and request Vahriz had given him, based on the visions the Goddess had blessed Vahriz with about the true nature of Arslan. Neylan hadn't given the strategist Narsus much thought, but approved when he and his servant Elam agreed to follow after Arslan, to help him.

She watched as each person was added to those the Goddess gathered to Arslan to help him on his way. She sat in bemusement often at how odd a mixture of people it was. Surely the Goddess had a sense of humor. But there was one who made Neylan sit up and take notice.

When the Sindhurian spy Jaswant swore temporary allegiance to Arslan, Neylan was surprised, but also keenly interested. For such an assassin-spy to stand at the side of her son, not-yet-king of an opposing nation, it was a thing to respect and honor. This time she went to the Goddess.

"Only you know the hearts of men and women, to know if the child of a man will follow in the footsteps of his father, or stray from them, when a mother has taught them. Arslan will need not just great leaders to stand with him, as Merkan will, but also wise and loyal servants to support him.

"Jaswant has said he will return home eventually, and likely sooner than later. Can his loyalty to another kingdom's prince be rewarded, and another son be born to be raised to support and protect Arslan and his heir?" She held her heart in her mouth, her head bowed over her knees, as she knelt in the holy place. It was unusual for a priestess to ask for such a thing from the Goddess.

There was silence for a long time, then finally the Goddess spoke to her. "If you will raise that child and Merkan as brothers here in the Sacred Mountain until it's time for them to be trained by their fathers, so that they learn of me and what their holy role in Pars is, to remember it into adulthood, then perhaps it would be good to reward such loyalty and understanding of the true king of Pars."

Neylan slumped and sighed in relief. She wasn't to be punished, and even more had been granted her request. "I will," she promised.

When the army of Pars returned to Peshawar Citadel from completing their requirement to Sindhura, Neylan was prepared. Again it was going to be a hard thing, to convince this man to gift her a child. He was severe in his obedience to his requirements, and distrusted everything - as a good spy and assassin should. She wasn't going to complain.

This time, she was waiting already in Jaswant's bedroom when he arrived, having been relieved of his watch on Arslan's door past midnight. She'd dressed properly as his own nation's women did, so as to not offend him. It had been hard for her to see into Sindhura, but because Arslan had her blood in his veins, she could watch him, and thus see somewhat of what had happened.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my rooms?" Jaswant demanded, suspicious from the start.

Neylan bowed to him. "I am a priestess of the Goddess who watches over Pars. Please forgive my intrusion." She stared at him, not letting him summarily order her out of the room.

He went to confusion since he couldn't remain angered. "Why would the goddess of Pars have any interest in me?" he asked.

She answered honestly, "Because never has any loyalty been given to any prince or king of Pars until you - a foreigner - declared yours for Prince Arslan." His eyes widened, but he didn't answer. She understood. His loyalty was from too deep within his emotions for him to answer to it.

"You've said that you won't stay to stand to protect him when Sindhura comes against Pars again. It's understandable." That seemed to surprise him, too. "Instead, gift me with a son who will stand there in your stead.

"I will see he understands loyalty to then-King Arslan, then bring him to you at the proper age to learn what you can teach him, and so that you may also enjoy your son for a time before he takes his place at the back of the king." She knew that he wouldn't want to not see his son at all. He already sorrowed for the man who'd taken him in for having no parents of his own.

Jaswant crossed his arms and his brow furrowed in thought as he considered Neylan's proposal. He finally gave a sharp nod. "That's acceptable."

Neylan held out her hand to him, but his eyes narrowed at her again. "But how do I know this isn't a ploy to get information from me about what the plans into the future are? This is a delicate time, and I must remain untainted. I won't speak to you if you're here only as a spy, or if you're here to kill me so that Prince Arslan's back is bare at the wrong time."

Neylan's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she wasn't allowed to say Arslan was her son, so of course she wouldn't want to see him harmed. "It's hard to trust when you must test everyone, and everything is suspect. I also am loyal to Pars, for my Goddess would kill me if I turned against her. I wish to see the people and the land returned to peace and harmony, the same as Prince Arslan. It's something I can do to help him into his future, and all of Pars into the future of his heirs.

"Rather than tell me anything, for I've already seen it all already anyway and won't tell anyone, let me tell you a story as payment. It's one I can tell you, who are not of Pars. To tell anyone of Pars the story is to ask for my own death. It's a forbidden tale as long as the current king lives. Only he, the Sacred Mountain, and the Priests of Chaos know this tale."

That was intriguing enough information to buy Jaswant's temporary trust, as a spy who wanted to know more to help the one he'd sworn loyalty to. Neylan didn't think it would hurt to have the information in the strategist's ear, either. However, the Goddess scolded her slightly so that at the end of their mating and the story, she whispered to Jaswant, "Tell no one but Narsus this story. Anyone who knows it, or is rumored to know it is killed by the king's men. Narsus is already hated by the king and flaunts his life regardless."

Jaswant understood the grave importance of the prophecy with that much warning. He would consider it vital to the ending solution - and it might just be for all Neylan knew. She wasn't the Goddess - nor the strategist - to be sure.

It couldn't surprise her that not very long after that night, Narsus acted on the words Jaswant had passed to him, to send the minstrel Gieve away to settle the camp while at the same time cover that he - another foreigner not of Pars - had been sent to confirm the prophecy and confirm Arslan's claim to the throne.

Gieve became another one that Neylan watched. He was coming to find her, after all. She wouldn't meet with him personally, however. She had no interest in yet another man wanting her only for her beauty, and he would be worse than most. She'd let the other residents of the Sacred Mountain answer his questions for her.

* * *

*Merkan (Tk): he who is of strong blood


	7. Daryun Wounded

Neylan was barely pregnant with her third son when things moved quickly again. She prayed most devoutly to the Goddess in behalf of her oldest son and his inner circle, particularly when Daryun was wounded, which frightened her. It was her first time to see that the Goddess wasn't wrong to be concerned that the priests of chaos might win at the beginning, and Merkan have to take up the role.

"Please, She Who Loves Pars, let me go and heal Daryun, so that he isn't lost to his pride as a Marzbān and to his drive to loyally stand beside Arslan. Arslan would more than grieve if he died. Daryun is his only strength at this time. My small efforts are necessary to offset even somewhat the healing the five priests of chaos can bring to Hilmes. Daryun will be needed again far too soon, otherwise."

The Goddess pondered Neylan, then sighed at her. "You are already falling in love with him, Daughter."

Neylan blinked in surprise. "I - what? Is that even possible for a priestess?" She wasn't sure she could fall in love with a man, having watched what her sister had gone through.

"Of course it is," the Goddess scolded lightly. "It doesn't happen often, for obvious reasons, but it is _possible_."

Neylan had to admit that in most eras and generations, the priestess didn't leave her seclusion in the mountain for much of anything, save one daughter to be conceived. Still, it was very odd to her. "Is that a problem?" she wanted to know if it would be punished.

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Neylan slumped at that answer. It wasn't part of the prophecy - her own life once she'd borne the sons that needed to be born. "Only your own heartache if he refuses you in the end."

"Oh," Neylan said in a very quiet voice. She pursed her lips, then shrugged. "I suppose I'll have to let the natural things take their course. If my sister has lived such a hard life with her strength, surely I can live a small burden with my weakness. I already live in heartache for having to give her up, and then Arslan as well before I was ready."

"Indeed," the Goddess was also capable of wry humor, it seemed.

Neylan went sober, "However, Daryun's death because he wasn't healed sufficiently in time is a serious threat to Arslan being able to successfully complete the prophecy. I must answer to that much, regardless."

"Indeed," the Goddess agreed with that point. "But remember, three nights with a man can be too long, and two too tempting."

Neylan drew in a sharp breath, held it, then gave a nod as she let it out. She might have a heavy price to pay. She was only one person, and weak, even with the Goddess' blessings and skills she'd been taught.

Neylan waited until Daryun's wound was tended to by Jaswant. As she'd expected, he immediately rose to his feet to return to Arslan's side. She went to Arslan's tent, hidden from the eyes of those in the tent, and whispered in Arslan's ear, "He will die if he doesn't properly rest and heal."

Not that she really needed to give the warning. Arslan was already worried. The words were enough, though, that he scolded Daryun back to his tent fiercely, giving the Marzbān the excuse of said scolding to prop up his pride upon.

Neylan followed Daryun back to his tent, finally giving in and catching him two-thirds of the way there, to wrap his arm around her shoulders. His breathing was labored and he was in obvious pain. He glanced at her, but she was still hiding her identity, so he didn't comment as of yet.

Once inside his tent, she gently settled him to his bedroll on the floor, took his coat off of him, and laid him down. She covered him with his blanket lightly, then went to his tent flap, left open from earlier that day, and untied it, letting it fall closed. But rather than leave the tent, she turned and walked back to him, allowing the magic of disguise to fall away.

His eyes widened to see her in her white priestess robe, with no veils. She settled down at his wounded side, sitting cross-legged. Very lightly she placed her fingertips over the wound, but not on it. "The priests of chaos already are healing Hilmes. Because they number five, they will heal him in but a few days. I am only one, and am weak in comparison."

She made sure he was aware enough to hear her instructions, then kept going as she poured her life-force into his wound slowly, as she'd been trained so as to not kill herself, nor to overwhelm his own body with too much at once. The priests of chaos wouldn't care, nor would Hilmes. The five would rotate through the day giving him constant healing. She would have to rest regularly to recover between healings.

"You will stay lying here in your bed until tomorrow night at the earliest. I should be able to heal you enough that by tomorrow morning you can have light broth, but your insides won't hold food until then. You shouldn't walk or move around for at least three days. You might be able to ride your horse on the fourth day if you go at a gentle walk." She looked at him most fiercely. "You aren't to do any physical activity - no hard running on the horse, no weapons practice, nothing - for another week after that fourth day."

Daryun opened his mouth to protest, a contrary wrinkle on his face. Neylan glared at him fiercely. "I've not troubled myself with you, nor asked you to trouble yourself with me, but this is different. You will die if you don't follow my instructions, if not within that time period, then when you meet Hilmes again, because you won't have properly healed and he will best you."

She glared at him until he looked away, having to admit that they were too evenly matched. If he was the weaker of the two, he would die. She relented, and continued. "I'll stay nearby for these first few days. I'm concerned that the priests may come to finish the deed, if any of them can move once they've healed Hilmes. If they don't come then, they'll likely leave you alone."

Daryun looked back at her and opened his mouth again. Neylan glared at him again. "I know what he said, but he is their pawn. They understand how dangerous you are to their plans. You keep the rightful king propped up. He will falter and fail without you in your place. They will remove you so that can happen, even if they wait for whatever timing they're looking for."

He finally managed to get a question in as she paused to check on the healing. "And will you come and assist me then, like they assist him?" It was a taunting teasing question, asked in a pique of frustration at her for countering all his arguments.

She glanced at him with another glare for his tone. "If the Goddess allows it; however, I haven't the magics to do much more than heal. I'm not a warrior, nor one who deals death, such as they are." Her heart fell and perhaps her face did as well, for his hand came up to grasp her forearm briefly. She didn't look at him, but she did try to firm up again, to not show him her weakness. It was hard for her to emulate her sister, not having had the practice.

It was hard to be this close to him, Neylan suddenly realized. With a blink, she chanted one of her spells. Not long after, Daryun was sleeping, which he needed anyway in order to heal properly.


	8. Too Close

Neylan heard footsteps outside Daryun's tent. It was late in the day now, and she was very tired. Daryun was still sleeping. She slipped away from Daryun's side to be back in the shadows of the tent, and cast the spell that made others not see her. Narsus' servant Elam pulled back the side of the tent and ducked into it, a bowl in his hands. The smell coming from it reached Neylan's nose and she put her hands over her stomach to prevent it from giving her away. The spell didn't prevent obvious sounds from being heard.

She watched while Elam set the bowl down to the side. He sat next to Daryun and pulled back the blanket to check on the bandaging. Some blood had seeped out when Daryun had walked to the tent, but it was dark now, not bright red. Elam gave a content enough nod and pulled the blanket back up to cover Daryun. Daryun hadn't roused and Elam didn't attempt to wake him either.

Elam put his hand to the ground to rise, paused, and frowned. He cast his eyes around the tent, but it was mostly in shadow, only a little light coming from the small fold in the flap he'd entered through. He didn't say anything, but as he reached the entrance to the tent he pulled the flap open more and looked back into the tent again.

Neylan didn't move, didn't breathe, and kept carefully hidden away from his eyes. He'd likely felt the warmth of the place she'd been sitting for so long. She stayed there in her hiding place for a long time after the servant walked away, not wanting to be suddenly discovered.

When she thought she might be safe enough, Neylan walked silently to the bowl set on the ground and drank from it. There were some vegetables and a little meat in it. She ate those when the broth was gone, then checked on the child within her. He and she both needed the food and she now needed rest. She was having to conserve sufficiently that the healing didn't harm the growth of the child, but it was taxing nonetheless, to have to meet both needs.

Not wanting to leave Daryun's side this night, because just her presence was a protection for him from the dark priests, and wanting to be able to know if he needed her, she lay down on his bed next to his uninjured side. "Please wake me before anyone enters the tent," she prayed to the Goddess. She'd taken this side just in case she couldn't be woken, and she hid herself again. Maybe if someone came to check on Daryun they wouldn't find her on this side. And perhaps she was too tired to reason properly. She could only leave it in the Goddess' hands.

A hand on Neylan's head, holding it tightly to the ground woke her up in a fright. Her eyes flew open as she gasped, trying to understand. Daryun's dark eyes stared into hers with great suspicion. She wasn't sure why he could see her, although perhaps he'd felt her first, the touch making it so he could also see, and he'd been concerned for his own safety although she'd warned him she'd be staying with him.

"Are you Queen Tahameny?" he demanded harshly.

Neylan blinked in surprise. "No, I'm not," she denied it. "Eye color can't be hidden."

Daryun blinked at her, looking into her eyes again, then squinting a bit to see in the dimness of the tent. It was just light enough to say that it was daytime again outside the tent. She let her eyes stay open wide so he could see that her eyes were blue, and didn't look away from him - not that she could. His hand on her head was pressing her down enough to hurt somewhat. He was very strong, even with the injury.

"You look like her," he accused. "And you look very much like Prince Arslan as well."

She pondered what she could say, trying to not panic. "We are family. She is Misilleme. I am Canlanma.* I don't have her strength. I would have broken many times walking in her path."

For some reason he wasn't satisfied. His hand pressed down harder on her head, making her wince and try to pull away. "I can't say more," she begged. He held her still, pushing even more hard. "Please, I wouldn't have healed you at my own expense if I wasn't loyal to Pars and Prince Arslan. If you must know more, ask Jaswant what he told Narsus, that no person of Pars must know, on pain of death."

The hand pressing on her head lifted slightly in surprise. There were footsteps outside the tent at that moment and his hand was removed quickly. She was on her feet and in hiding in an instant. Even Daryun wouldn't want anyone in the encampment to find a woman in his tent, particularly one who had slept next to him all night.

Neylan watched while Jaswant tended to Daryun, helping him up and to the privy, then settling him to sitting down so the bandages could be checked. Once he was satisfied, Jaswant handed the bowl of broth he'd brought to Daryun, then sat back to keep him company.

Daryun paused, then said quietly, "Jaswant, I've been asked to ask you what it was you told Narsus that brings death to a Parsian to know."

Jaswant's eyebrow rose slightly. Neylan held her breath and sat down carefully to rest. This would take a while and she wasn't sure how much of the visit Jaswant really remembered. She'd tried to erase the lovemaking from his memory and fill it up with only the story. Today she really hoped that had worked.

"A woman dressed in white, with white hair and blue eyes, claiming to be the priestess of your goddess, came to me and told me the story," he began.

Daryun stopped eating and stared at Jaswant with his mouth open for a moment. Jaswant gave a nod. "I was rather surprised to be the one approached if it was your goddess, not mine. Only the command that it wasn't to be told to anyone other than Narsus on pain of death for any Parsian who heard it made the visit make any sense at all. The information was critical, in my opinion at the time. Narsus seemed to agree it was at least important."

Jaswant paused, then narrowed his eyes at Daryun, who went back to sipping at his broth obediently, but that wasn't it. Jaswant folded his arms. "Are you willing to put yourself at that risk? To hear those words as well?"

Daryun considered the question as he sipped at the broth in the bowl. "Can you give me a summary?" he finally asked. "One that will let me fill in the holes sufficiently?"

Jaswant pondered on that. Softly he said, "There is a hidden prophecy. The current line of kings will bring Pars to chaos and the brink of ruin, and the bloodline will destroy itself from the inside. Only the rise of a son of the proper kings of Pars will bring back balance to light and dark, and peace be restored to Pars and the nations around it.

"The king knows the prophecy, the dark ones who support Hilmes know it, and the priestesses of the Goddess know it, so she could tell me it. Now that you know it, watch your back more closely than you do."

He looked down with a frown. "Narsus feels that it's too soon to tell Prince Arslan. There are other details, so Narsus has sent Gieve out to confirm them and find the evidence necessary to support the claim that Prince Arslan is this 'prophesied son of the proper kings of Pars'."

Daryun was silent as he finished what he was going to eat of the broth. He set the bowl down on the ground next to him and Jaswant handed him a roll. Daryun took it, but set it next to the bowl. "I'll finish those later," he said softly. "Thank you for telling me that much. Help me lie back down. I'll rest longer today. The wound pulls today, so I'd rather not walk around just yet."

"Nor should you," Jaswant agreed, rising smoothly to his feet and helping Daryun lie back down. When Daryun was comfortable again, Jaswant paused while looking down into Daryun's face. "Elam claims that you have another nurse watching over you?"

Daryun looked away from him. "If I do, it must be while I'm sleeping," he said and closed his eyes. "Thanks for the help again."

"Anytime," Jaswant said, but his eyes swept through the tent, the same as Elam's had. Again Neylan held very still. Jaswant's senses were even more highly tuned to finding someone like her, but he was looking for someone standing, not sitting, and the light still wasn't enough to overcome her hiding spell. Still, she waited a long time before moving again.

It wasn't until Daryun said quietly, "I've saved the rest of it for you. I'm sure you're also hungry, if you're in hiding from everyone else. Which I suppose you should be, looking like the queen as you do." His lips curled up slightly in a smile, although he didn't open his eyes.

It was true that Neylan was hungry. She also needed to go to the bathroom. She cautiously and silently made her way to the food, not so he could reach her, and ate. He was asleep by spell again before she was done. She slipped to the privy, staying hidden. Then she sat by his side again to resume her healing of his wound. She'd sleep in the back corner of the tent that night, where he couldn't reach her, nor could anyone come upon her unawares.

* * *

*misilleme (Tk): retaliation, reprisal, retribution, retortion, requital, answer.  
canlanma (Tk): revival, boom, resurgence, refreshment, renaissance, rebirth.


	9. Sufficient Healing

Daryun woke to a second morning of his side cold. He'd fallen asleep suddenly again after breakfast the previous morning, though, so he could only presume the priestess had stayed the third day to see him heal. He supposed he only had himself to blame for being concerned enough that first morning to frighten her.

It was a shame, though, to have wasted the opportunity to enjoy being waited on by such beauty. He doubted she would be any more impressed than Queen Tahameny at such flattery, however. Her stern glares and scolding were enough to tell him that.

Daryun glanced at the bowl. The bread was gone again, but he couldn't see into it well from his prone position. It looked empty. She hadn't told him how long she would stay to heal him. He would leave her some of his breakfast again, to be sure. It wouldn't do for the healer to falter for want of proper nutrients and rest. That was well understood by all who lived in danger of needing such.

As he waited for Jaswant to arrive, Daryun pondered on the priestess. He'd woken concerned for his life because he never had anyone lying at his side as he slept. To see her face again so closely and he'd feared for his life right when he was needed most by Prince Arslan, for all she'd said she was there to see he remained in that position. He had no need for the curse of Queen Tahameny in his life.

It had been surprising to him that Jaswant's first words from his mouth had confirmed the priestess' story, that she wasn't Tahameny, but was family to her. To have the forbidden prophecy confirm the truth of what they were was equally astounding.

Tahameny's curse definitely brought reprisal and retribution upon a house that had wrested the throne from another in the distant past. At least that was what Daryun had worked out the prophecy was related to from the summary and what he knew of the two women. To have the priestess name herself as the other half - rebirth and restoration - satisfied the rest of the prophecy. Everything she had done until then that he knew of pointed in that direction so far.

Light footsteps outside his tent drew Daryun's attention. He would call Jaswant a woman for how he walked save that he knew it was because the spy understood that to walk lightly was to remain hidden from most. He respected the man and trusted him because he understood what had won Jaswant to Arslan's side. When they were on opposite sides of the field again, he could also trust that Jaswant would be as serious about killing him as he would be about making sure that didn't happen.

"Good morning," Jaswant said in his soft voice, seeing Daryun was awake again before he arrived.

"Good morning," Daryun replied pleasantly. He noted Jaswant's expression that said the bowl was indeed empty. It was good to have companions who were concerned about his welfare. He still wasn't going to admit anything openly yet.

The morning's bowl was set to the side, steaming still. Jaswant pulled the cloth sling he was carrying further burdens in over his head to set it carefully nearby on the cloth rug floor as well. "Shall we see how you're doing this morning?" Jaswant asked pleasantly.

Daryun wrinkled his nose. "Yes, please. The wound itches today. But after I've taken care of the necessities, please."

"Of course," Jaswant smiled, understanding quite well. His strong arms helped Daryun up, each movement as smooth as if he was wielding his sword in the dance. It was a part of him now to that extent. It was what made him an excellent bodyguard for the prince. Daryun had been able to finally relax to some degree with Jaswant at Arslan's back. The young prince had his head in the clouds a little too frequently for anyone's heart in such troubled times.

Back on his mattress, sitting up this time, Daryun reached for his bowl and drank with one hand as Jaswant began unwrapping the bandages. When he reached the final twists directly over the wound, he paused to fetch a sealed pot from his sling. Using some of the used but still somewhat clean bandaging, he opened the pot, soaked up some water, and wet down the cloth where the scab had formed.

Daryun didn't often receive wounds at this point in his career, but he had in the past so knew he much appreciated this step. He stayed out of the way of the work, finishing what he wanted of the broth then set the bowl down on the rug on the opposite side from the side Jaswant was working on.

With a few fingers he fetched out a few pieces of vegetable. He would test to see if his innards could hold it without further damage. He was becoming hungry enough he would need to eat more solids very soon. Broth alone was rather dull after so many meals of it in a row.

Jaswant's eyes flicked to see, but he didn't make a comment. Instead he held out his arm. "Let's lie you back so I can properly work."

Daryun grasped Jaswant's elbow and used his other hand as a support until he was lying back down again. "Not pleasant, but not as painful as the first days," he commented, to let his nurse know how things were fairing internally.

Jaswant gave a nod, applied just a little more water to the bandage, then carefully pulled it up, trying to not take the whole scab with it. If he took too much of it, they would have to start over again, it was such a deep wound. When the wound was uncovered, Jaswant blinked at it a few times, then lightly ran his fingers over the place. "I would say it itched because that needed to come off."

His eyes came up to look into Daryun's. "It is healed as if it happened three or more weeks ago, not three days." His eyes glanced at the empty bowl. "But you've only just begun to try solids this morning."

Daryun gave a shrug of his shoulder, "If the Goddess has deigned to bless me with healing, and taken what food I couldn't eat as payment, who am I to complain?"

Jaswant's lip twitched up briefly. "Indeed," he said dryly. "Surely that is better than to let it go to waste and for you to kill yourself unnecessarily being overly brave." Daryun glared at him for the tease. "But surely you wouldn't sleep through such ministrations?" Jaswant asked archly as he collected up the old bandaging.

Daryun rolled his eyes. "If only. I haven't had any choice in the matter. I fall asleep right after you walk out of the tent and don't wake up again until in the morning before you arrive." Jaswant's eyes went to the empty bowl again as his eyebrow raised. Daryun didn't eat any of that meal at all each day but each morning the bowl was empty again.

Jaswant moved to pull out a cloth-wrapped packet of herbs and a small mortar and pestle to pour them into. He looked like he was considering the things he'd heard as he worked to make the poultice. Daryun was a little surprised he'd still apply it, but then it might help the internal healing as well, plus prevent the external itching of healing that he didn't have much patience for, so he held his tongue.

He was sitting up again, Jaswant making the final wrappings of the new bandaging - tighter this time around Daryun's middle to support his innards as his muscles still needed to heal some - when there were steps outside his tent again. Daryun looked up to look out the door. Jaswant had tied it open so he would have enough light to work by. It wasn't necessary to see, though. Daryun recognized the footsteps. For all the prince was learning to walk with more strength, he still walked timidly when he wasn't paying attention.

Daryun waited for Jaswant to tuck in the last end of the bandage, then bowed just enough to not hurt. "Your Highness. I'm honored to have you come visit me at my place this morning."

Arslan smiled as he entered the tent. Alfreed turned her back to the door of the tent, standing guard while Arslan conversed. Daryun approved. Those who supported Arslan were still watching over the Prince while Daryun couldn't. "Jaswant told me that mornings were when you were awake. Are you healing well?"

"Yes," Daryun answered. "Jaswant has just rewrapped it. The Goddess is blessing me with a speedy recovery, although I've been ordered to continue to baby myself for another week yet." He let his face express his displeasure at the restriction.

"Good," Arslan said immediately, and firmly. "I also will scold you the same, then." He relented rather quickly however as he sat down cross-legged on the rug to face Daryun.

Jaswant had collected up his things and the empty bowl. He bowed to Arslan and excused himself to Daryun's thanks. When he was gone, Arslan looked into Daryun's eyes, his back as straight as ever when he was sure of his words. Daryun was pleased to see it. The weight Arslan bore was sitting better now that they'd had one positive victory.

"I'll have you lead the caravan of prisoners and wounded, Daryun," Arslan said. "They're coming at a slightly slower pace, one your healing body can perhaps agree to. I won't confine you to a wagon, but I will expect you to pause and rest as needed.

"I'm also sending Elam with it. His wound also still needs to finish healing." Arslan's face wrinkled in a little concern, "I'm praying that the Goddess will also allow him a quick recovery. We'll also need him soon." Daryun could understand Arslan's concern for his friend.

"But it's really for another reason he's going." Arslan went to a bland look. "Étoile will be with that caravan as well. She's chosen to do everything she can to tend to the people of Lusitania that we'll take with us."

Daryun slumped a little. "At least he can keep an eye on the whelp, and call on me if necessary."

Arslan gave a nod to indicate Daryun had understood rightly. "I had a servant of Lord Barcarcion come to me privately - apparently his personal manservant. Étoile's forsaken being a girl and become a knight because she's the only heir to her family's land and title. The servant wanted me to understand that, and that her grandfather had entrusted her care to Lord Barcarcion. Now that he's dead by his own hand, she has no one here to watch over her.

"Most of the Lusitanians who came here with Lord Barcarcion came from both holdings, so she has a duty and responsibility to them that she's taking seriously." Arslan's blue eyes lifted to look directly into Daryun's eyes. "I won't ask her to do otherwise. It's both right to support her in her desire to fulfill her duties properly, and to make it her punishment as a captive warrior who is uninjured."

Daryun nodded in thoughtful approval. Arslan had thought it through properly, for all he was still far too soft on a slave that had used him as a hostage to free himself.

His eyes were caught by the blue of Arslan's eyes, still looking at him. Daryun blinked. The blue eyes framed by the white hair, which was straight and not curled, still made him for just one moment think of the priestess. Tahameny's eyes were violet, but her sister's were blue like those eyes. _Was it possible?_

His own son would only be two, so this one and that one weren't the same, but the same method could have been used to conceive this one. "Prince Arslan, will you tell me a little about your early childhood? I only know that you were brought to the castle when you were a child."

Arslan raised an eyebrow to have the conversation changed rather suddenly. He shifted to raise a knee and lean on it a bit as his brow furrowed slightly in consideration. "I don't remember much about my birth. I was raised by a nurse and steward of the knight caste in a village outside the capital. I played with other children there, and was taught by those two before I was brought to the castle."

He looked to the side and his expression went a little pensive, perhaps even a little lonely as it did rather frequently. "I do know I have always wondered why my parents wouldn't be warm with me. I think my birth mother was and so I expect it from them, even to now." He looked back down at the space between the two of them and sighed. "I suppose it wasn't really very much a surprise to learn I'm not really their heir."

Daryun clicked his tongue in irritation, making Arslan look up at him suddenly. "They officially recognized you as heir, so you are their heir. Such things aren't uncommon. It is true that blood is considered more strongly by those who support a crown, but those with eyes to see can tell you're the better person to sit the throne - if Pars wishes to have peace into it's long future. Don't let it trouble you. They had their reasons to adopt you and name you that, even if we'll never know them."

He gave Arslan an encouraging smile. "Besides, we don't really care. We've learned who you are and it's enough."

Arslan sighed at him, but looked like he felt better. He pushed up to his feet. "We'll have the funeral service this morning outside the fortress. Are you well enough to come for that? I need to go make final preparations for it, then we'll begin."

Daryun blinked up at him, then gave a nod. "I think I can stand for that long. It would be good to honor those who fought bravely." He had an ulterior motive besides. Perhaps the priestess could rest a little longer, if she was still here, and would forgive him that much effort a day early for the cause. He bowed to Arslan as he left the tent, Alfreed following after him.

When they were far enough away, Daryun whispered. "I'm sorry if that displeases you. Thank you for healing me." He didn't receive an answer, but he hadn't really expected to. He reached for his coat and pulled it on, then carefully rose to his feet. That wasn't as hard as lying down or rising from his bed. He would walk slowly and rest as he needed to. As he left his tent, he untied the door so that the priestess could get to the food without being seen by others.

He had to squelch a sudden urge to wish it would trap her in so she couldn't leave it or him again. He would only be scolded fiercely again, and be told one more time that he wasn't to trouble himself with her, nor let her distract him from his work. Since it was true, he did it for her instead. A priestess of the Goddess wasn't a woman a man could claim for himself.


	10. Clues

Somehow Daryun couldn't be surprised when Étoile walked out to give a prayer to the dead of the Lusitania. He did sigh at his prince for it, though. Perhaps he might win a few points with the Lusitanians or their god, but he rather suspected it would fall on those ears already so deaf to anything but their own fanatic beliefs. Étoile herself only continued to prove such deafness and blindness to the prince on a regular basis.

"I'm not sure he'll ever win through to that head," he grumbled at Narsus as they turned away from the memorial. Servants and soldiers alike were already shoveling the waiting dirt over the rows and rows of dead in the group burial space. Narsus only smiled. "Will you see me back to my tent so I'm not found sprawled out on the ground half-way there this time?" Daryun tempted Narsus.

Narsus's eyebrow went up. "When was the first time?"

"The first day," Daryun said easily, "only I was kept on my feet by someone else that time." He let Narsus puzzle that out, knowing he loved to have puzzles of that sort to entertain his mind.

"Will I get to meet this person when we arrive at your tent?" Narsus asked.

"Not likely," Daryun put down that hope quickly. "I haven't since around that same time, although I've appreciated the effects of the aid."

"Too bad," Narsus said with false despondency. "So why am I coming with you, then?" he asked, insinuating he was really too busy to visit with his injured friend for even a little.

Daryun gave him a slight smile, teasing him, "Because if you don't even come visit me once before we're divided on the march, you won't get to hear what I've learned these last few days, to add to that map you're trying to see in your head."

Narsus glared at Daryun, who only looked back with an arch surprised look. "Or, you'd rather I sit on information for that long, just because you've sent other people who think they've learned enough? That isn't like you, Narsus," he gave a sad, disappointed look to the next king's strategist, who was neglecting his proper responsibilities. He was rewarded with an irritated expression of a man who'd lost the gambit, making him want to hum in delight - which he didn't. He wasn't that mean.

Daryun waited to speak until they were settled in Daryun's tent, the door open and their ears attuned to others being around, listening to their conversation. The bowl was empty again. Daryun was relieved just enough to know that the priestess had at least rested that night and eaten. If she was in the tent, she was hiding as excellently as she always did. Even he couldn't tell where she was or if she was.

"Of the details Jaswant told you, did he by chance tell you how to find evidence of who the prince's birth father is?" Daryun asked quietly.

Narsus's eyebrow raised. Daryun kept a calm expression. Narsus shifted to sprawl languidly, resting on an elbow, his other arm draped on a raised knee. "I've sent my explorer to a place where we're hopeful he can learn more clues about that man, but no, nothing was said about that particular person in what I was told."

Daryun gave a thoughtful nod, placing that information where he needed it to be. "I suppose for curiosity's sake it might be good to know, but it isn't necessary."

Narsus gave him an uncertain, surprised look. Daryun asked his next question. "Do you know if the Queen has ever given birth to any child? It seems to my limited knowledge that she hasn't."

Narsus pondered on that. "I suppose I could ask around. I haven't heard of any rumors to that effect while I was at the court. Certainly if one did exist there would be those who would want to bring any rumored child into the conflict while it's ongoing." He pondered that, looking out the door and into the distance.

"Arslan is quite sure his birth mother loved him, unlike the parents he's heir to," Daryun said after a bit. Narsus' eyes came to him sharply. "To look so much like the Queen, he has to have been born to close family, if not her, don't you think?"

Now Narsus was positively glaring at Daryun, wanting to make him just spit it out. Daryun wasn't really disposed to, but he might have to eventually. Instead he asked another question. "Was there anything in Jaswant's details about the Sacred Mountain and the habits of the priestesses? Do they usually go around requesting children for themselves?"

Narsus sat up suddenly at that, a frown on his face. "No, but I've already done my own studies on that as a separate issue. I do know that the priestesses are only seen outside the mountain when that's what they want, and almost exclusively for a daughter, to take their place when they're getting to the end of their own service."

"Only for daughters, huh?" Daryun mused, rubbing his chin with his hand. "But..., if it was for the time of prophecy, would it happen so she could give birth to a son?" His eyes went to Narsus sharply. His friend was deep into hard thought. Eventually he gave a nod, allowing as how it could happen.

"Well," Daryun relaxed back, "considering that the woman who came to me the night before I left for my duties out of the city –," he glared at Narsus, "right before you got banished from court because I wasn't there to protect you," Narsus blushed and rolled his eyes since Daryun kept bringing that up, "– showed up to ask such a strange thing."

Narsus stared at Daryun in utter shock. Daryun waved a hand. "Not a daughter. A son, 'as a blessing for your uncle in his old age to reward him', as she put it."

"Seriously, a _son_?" Narsus could barely keep his voice down. Daryun gave a solemn nod. "How old would such a one be now?" Narsus asked.

Daryun looked out the door now, calculating although he didn't really need to. "Close to three years."

Narsus snorted. "You'll have to wait a long time for that one, then." Daryun shrugged. He knew Narsus had only wanted to confirm it wasn't Arslan himself. "Still, that long before, huh?" Daryun nodded, and then Narsus got it and his wide eyes turned to Daryun. "The Goddess has known that far in advance of what was coming?"

Daryun looked at his friend, very sober. "Yes. And is planning for that far into the future as well." He answered the wrinkle on Narsus's brow. "The child is to learn to stand in my place when I'm too old to watch over the Kings of Pars, as he will stand in his grandfather's place who did that also in his time."

He leaned forward and spoke urgently to Narsus now, his finger pointing to emphasize his ponderings. "Narsus, I believe that the Goddess not only blessed my uncle with a child to follow him, but also blessed him with knowledge - a vision, dream, or something. Vahirz knew before that battle to warn me to stand loyal to Arslan and only him.

"He sent a letter to his old friend at the place that became the only place we could go for safety, even though he knew his friend had supported and trained Hilmes the same as Vahriz had trained Arslan. He knew what regard Marzbān Bahman held Hilmes in, yet he asked him to support Arslan anyway. Why?"

Narsus nodded slowly. "If the Goddess had shown him who Arslan truly was and that we would have only there to retreat to, he would have tried to win us favor early with someone who might be hard to convince." He rested his chin on his hand resting on his knee as he added the new things to the picture of the whole, for all many of them only filled in holes from earlier.

His eyes eventually came around to Daryun again. "Why? Why has she been involved?"

"The Goddess is involved to see that peace is restored to Pars and the nations, to counter the evil priests of chaos."

Narsus shook his head. "The priestess."

Daryun wrinkled his brow. "Because she's commanded to?"

Narsus considered that, then shook his head. "It's more than that, I think."

Daryun shook his head. "Love, possibly. She loves Queen Tahameny, and according to Arslan, also loves him. But most likely it's mostly duty."

Narsus gave Daryun a long look. Finally he asked, "And does she love you also, to just show up and heal you?"

Daryun flushed, not able to help himself. "When all I get are glares, scoldings, and the invisible silent treatment? I think not. Every time it might even come up, she scolds me, even if only in my own head, that my duty is to my liege and my focus to my duty, not any wife or family." He sighed an irritated sigh at Narsus. "Besides, what priestess is any man's to have? They're given to the Goddess only."

"Oh, good," Narsus said as he rose to his feet as if Daryun hadn't even said anything, "I finally get to tease you for having a wife you didn't ask for." Daryun groaned and put his hand to his head. Alfreed was still going on about that for all she was still too young a child to even understand what she was talking about. Daryun was sure he didn't need that kind of teasing.

As Narsus moved to the door, he glanced back at Daryun, "Really, you spoke of your son with too much of the pride of any father pleased to have an heir to follow in his footsteps." Daryun flushed again, wanting to deny it and unable to. Still, his friend took some pity on him. A quiet, "Congratulations," came from Narsus' lips as the door fell closed behind him, untied so that Daryun could have the one more afternoon of rest and healing.

Daryun lay there, but sleep didn't come suddenly, nor did warmth come to sit by his side. He finally sighed and worked at falling asleep instead of expecting it to come. Perhaps he'd offended her, but Narsus had needed to know those further details, he was quite sure of it.

The next morning Daryun was up early, aided by Jaswant one more time. This time he dressed fully, but kept the armor light. His core wouldn't hold up all day in heavy armor on horseback. Perhaps by the end of the week.

He'd been a little sorrowful to see that the food he'd left the priestess from the night before was still in the bowl in the morning. Jaswant's eyebrow had raised, but when Daryun handed him that morning's bowl, he'd eaten everything he could hold and shook his head slightly. Jaswant had taken both out when he'd left. The remainder of his healing would likely be on his own and blessings directly from heaven.

As he reached the gathering of the wounded and captives, he looked first for Elam. "Good morning, Elam," he said openly.

"Good morning, Marzbān Daryun," Elam answered respectfully.

"And are you feeling ready for travel this morning?" Daryun asked him.

Elam's eyes brightened a little. "Yes, actually. After my morning chores were done I retired to rest and actually fell soundly asleep. I didn't awaken until this morning again." His look fell to a chastened one. "Master Narsus forgave me, saying I surely needed the recovery before we traveled."

Daryun smiled. "Surely it is so." His eyes went to the young female knight. "You'll make a ruckus immediately so I can arrive as soon as possible, will you? Prince Arslan would sorrow to see either of you harmed in the confusion."

Elam looked at Étoile and sighed. "Yeah. I won't hesitate, but she's been doing well so far, really. At least it isn't babysitting the loud-mouth that needs to go home already," he scowled.

Daryun chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll count on you then," he said and headed for the Pars soldiers that would be guarding and watching over this caravan. It was kind of the Goddess to grant the desires and worries of the Prince's for his friend. Daryun couldn't begrudge Elam one day's worth of healing, when he'd received three of his own to be grateful for.


	11. Battles

Neylan watched from the Sacred Temple as Arslan's army of Pars nationals marched towards the capital city, Ecbatana. She watched through the eyes of the Goddess as the high priest of Yaldabaoth disappeared after the battle that removed the Knight's Templar from their Pars stronghold, then resurfaced again in the capital city of Lusitania.

Sadly, she watched as he stirred up the city against the absent king and his brother, shouting that the king was a heretic for falling for another nation's heretical queen, the king's brother was a heretic for sending Pars soldiers to kill all the "honorable" knights that had served directly under the high priest and not coming to his aide to protect them.

She sighed sadly to see that the next hot-bed of chaos would be in Lusitania, but she couldn't be surprised. The priests of chaos still desired more chaos to be wrought in the world in order to increase their power and strength. The one concern she did have, was that Arslan might be dragged into that conflict in the middle of trying to settle the chaos in his own country.

It wasn't hers to direct the flow of anything, only to watch and be obedient to the will of the Goddess, so she could only worry. That was tiring in her pregnant state, so instead she prayed to the Goddess and left it in Her hands.

When she wasn't watching those things, Neylan was studying further. She found it very frustrating to be so weak as to only be able to offer prayers and minimal healing at only emergency moments. She wanted to be able to help even a little more, to do what she could to tip the balance a little more to right and peace during this critical time.

She could use a skill similar to the Goddess' and speak to people at a far distance, but only with a lot of energy and focus. She worked hard to strengthen that skill. She could step from the mountain to any place within Pars. She worked hard to see if that boundary could be pushed, just in case Arslan was called to go into Lusitania like he'd gone into Sindhura. The other thing she could do was work with and create light. It was by changing the light to show people what she wanted them to see or not see that allowed her to hide from their sight, or to hide her appearance.

Neylan knew that Hilmes was instinctively afraid of fire, from his time as a child in the burning room he'd been saved from. She knew that it was the priests of chaos that had magically created the fog that had made it possible for the Lusitanian army to win in the last war against Pars. Those priests worked with darkness, and would use it again in future battles, she was sure of it.

She spent a lot of time experimenting with the creation of light and with using it to form illusions. She would never be able to use her skills at the war level, but if she could affect the most important individual battles, perhaps she could prevent a death that would critically weaken Pars into the future.

When the priests of chaos and darkness led Hilmes to battle against Daryun again, in their final attempt to kill Arslan, Neylan was ready. She whispered to the priestess Farangis to stand guard over Arslan in their hidden location and they would remain hidden to the eyes of the priests and their champion. Farangis promised.

Neylan placed a dancing flame illusion before Narsus to protect him as long as possible in his place should Hilmes win against Daryun, also whispering to him to hold his position. She was a little surprised when he actually both heard her and indicated he would.

Daryun and Jaswant stood together as the front line defense of the Prince. Neylan pushed Jaswant to hide from Hilmes, at least at the beginning. He faded into the background, keeping his eyes open for the priests to appear from the walls and floor as they had habit to do.

When the priests sent out the mists of darkness to prevent Daryun and Jaswant from seeing Hilmes or the priests, Neylan fiercely would show where they were by making them glow with her light when and wherever they appeared.

When Hilmes pressed Daryun so hard he lost his sword, Neylan pushed Jaswant forward. He was slightly behind Hilmes, but Hilmes was immediately distracted from Daryun for Neylan had wrapped Jaswant in the brilliant illusion of being engulfed in flame, as if a fiery, angry djinn bearing down on Hilmes.

Hilmes screamed and backpedaled. Two priests leaped out to block Jaswant and his sword cut them both down, for Neylan had wreathed it in light to harm their dark souls. Then she pulled Jaswant back, cloaking him in invisibility, so that Hilmes' wild panicked swing missed him.

Daryun had his sword in hand again by then, so pressed the advantage of having been ignored. Neylan went back to never allowing the priests of darkness get away with not being seen by either Jaswant or Daryun. Between the two warriors, they whittled down the priests to the last one. When he was struck down and Hilmes hard pressed to save his own flesh, the final hidden high priest arrived.

Neylan had been waiting for that. With one whisper to Farangis, she appeared between Daryun, Jaswant, and the others defending Arslan and the high priest of darkness. Being white already, it wasn't hard to make her own visage one of brilliant light, a light that sharply harmed the high priest.

From the side, arrow after arrow of the same light sped from Farangis' bow to slam into the high priest. Neylan refused to let the high priest escape, and the power of the Goddess flowed from her, penning him in.

It was the high priest that killed Hilmes at the end, drawing from Hilmes the last of his life to save his own. The shock and pain on Hilmes' face from the betrayal was sadly noted, but barely paid attention to in the end. Three blades, also wreathed in light, plunged into the high priest. Daryun, Jaswant, and an untired Narsus had moved against him now that Hilmes was gone.

With the final blows that rained down on him, the high priest of darkness cursed, but Neylan and the Goddess' wrath prevented both the curse from being cast and ended for good the life of the high priest. Neylan could feel the power of the Goddess flow through her, into the high priest, and through him into the depths of the Mountain of Darkness. The cleansing light completely cleared that place of evil and brought the caverns down so that their wicked craft couldn't be found and brought to rebirth again.

But to carry that much power, Neylan was near to nothing herself. She became the light, then slowly passed out, only able to make one final confirming check that her oldest son and his loyal retainers would live now.

She came to in the Sacred Mountain temple, in her own rooms. She was glad she'd already given birth to her third son by then, and recovered from that, or she'd never have been able to be alive at all after that battle. She rested then and didn't leave the mountain.

She watched over Arslan lightly as he took his place as king. They shared the sorrow that they'd been too late to save Tahameny. (Neylan couldn't bring herself to care as much as Arslan about Andragoras' beheading.) Both had died before he'd been able to reach Hilmes at Ecbatana, their public deaths being Hilmes' punishment to Arslan for even attempting to come against him with military might.

Mostly, Neylan spent her time from then quietly raising her two young sons, pleased to be able to rest and enjoy having them with her for this time.


	12. Childhood

Merkan was not quite four when his little brother Emin* was born. Emin didn't look like his mother at all, but then Merkan only had her blue eyes. They didn't really look like each other, either, but since everyone in the Sacred Mountain looked different from each other, and only his mother had white hair, he didn't think very much of it.

Merkan was sturdy, with black hair and medium brown skin. His energy level matched the energy of his startling blue eyes that shone because of how dark his hair was. His nose was long but those in the temple called it "noble" and he tried to ignore it when he looked into a mirror, since he thought it didn't really match. (Mostly because it didn't match his mother's slightly shorter and rounder look.)

Emin, as small as he was, was not quite as sturdy as Merkan, being slimmer. His skin was a paler shade of brown than Merkan's, but still not as pale as their mother. His hair was a lighter brown, and his eyes matched, being also lighter in shade. He was more quiet than Merkan, too.

It helped that as Emin grew, he showed that he was all boy. That was more fun, when Emin could run and play with Merkan. As soon as Emin was old enough to hold a stick and follow instructions (roughly when he was three and Merkan was seven), Emin got to join in with Merkan's weapons lessons. Then they could practice together.

While Merkan liked that, too, he got his first severe lessons in how to be gentle with those who were younger and weaker. Obviously the smaller, younger Emin couldn't take Merkan's full-out blows, but he didn't really know that at the first. As the tears streamed down Emin's face and the doctor wrapped his arm and shoulder, Merkan stood at the side of their stern instructor feeling very terrible.

The instructor didn't say anything, but his extreme disapproval exuded from him. Merkan's head kept trying to shrink up into his shoulders. When Emin was released by the doctor, Merkan walked up to him and bowed. "I'm so sorry, Emin," he said miserably.

He put his arms around Emin like his mother would put her arms around them when they needed to cry. That helped him feel better and Emin relax. "I promise, I won't do that again," Merkan said. When Emin felt better enough, Merkan turned to their instructor and bowed. "Please teach me how to teach others without hurting them."

He was a little surprised, then relieved to see approval in the face of their instructor. Both boys paid attention as he spoke to them. "It's important to learn that there's always someone more strong than you. You mustn't ever stop working hard to become better and stronger so you can protect yourself from that person." Emin looked down at the ground and winced, but gave a small nod.

"However, it's also important to understand how to temper yourself so you don't harm those who you should be caring for. You, Merkan, will become a warrior and a leader of men. To learn how to teach those under you, without killing them, is something I will teach you." Merkan relaxed, rather relieved. He really shouldn't have done it to his brother, and he really shouldn't hurt those who would help him later.

Emin had to learn to trust that his brother wasn't going to hit him so hard anymore, and to trust that he would get stronger. Merkan had to learn how to hit less hard. He'd always had to hit his instructor's practice sword very hard.

The boys grew in strength and in brotherly comradeship and love over the years they lived in the Sacred Mountain with their mother. She taught them the things of the Goddess, and of Pars and the nations around it, and she taught them to love the rightful king of Pars, Arslan.

When they were done with their lessons, they would usually go and find her watching over Pars, and often over Arslan. They would watch with her. They knew he was very young for a king, since she'd shown them the other kings of the nations around, and they knew all of his close advisors.

If it was a session of the king in court, they would watch until the king had made a declaration on the issue at hand, then their mother would discuss it with them. What had the king done? she would ask them. Then they would have to answer things like, "He listened carefully to the issue and to all the points brought for and against it." And, "He asked for the advice of those he trusts."

It was a surprising lesson when she pointed out that he'd listened to the advice of those he didn't know if he trusted, but who were in positions of power, so the king could understand how his nobles felt about issues. If they didn't feel heard, or respected, then he would lose their support, she explained.

They could see in Arslan's final answers that if his declaration was counter to the lords, he carefully explained why he'd made his decision, and often he asked for their patience to test his decision and see if the results were as he expected.

"Why do they allow it?" Merkan asked her.

"Because they also know he's young and has things to learn. If he were old, or acted like he didn't care for them, too, they would be angry and remove their support from him. A king is only as strong as his support, and his internal belief that what he does is for the sake of the kingdom's people."

She turned to them and they sat up straight at her sober expression. "It's a very difficult thing to be only one man who must carry an entire nation of people upon his shoulders. He carries the hopes of every man, woman, and child of Pars in him. They must work hard to eat, to have a place to live, to even find joy in each day. He led Pars to the peace they enjoy now so they can only focus on those things.

"When there is war, everyone suffers and can only hope to lie down and sleep without fear, wake to find a new day, and hope to find even a weed to eat. That is a harsh life that makes everyone sad, except those who have chosen greed and to think of only themselves and what they can take from those who work hard.

"A king has the power to command, even to command his armies to steal the food and things his people have worked hard to gain to take care of their families. A king has the power to command all of his people to help him take the lands and things of other nations. People will obey, but when those are done only to feed the emptiness of greed of a king, eventually that king will fall by the hands of his own people for his hubris."

"Why will they obey in the first place?" Emin asked.

"The nobles who command the soldiers will obey because if the king is selfish and wicked, they also can be free to be the same. He won't punish them for living the way he wants to live. The soldiers obey because they must, or because they also can be free to be equally as selfish. Can you see that when one person is allowed to do wrong, others can feel free to do the same?"

The boys pondered that for a while, then allowed as how they might see that. They were thinking of when Emil was hungry in the middle of the night and woke Merkan up. They would sneak to the kitchen together to steal apples and cheese, or other foods. While they didn't think it was quite the level of selfish she meant, they could understand. One of them was too afraid to do it alone, but together they had the courage to do a naughty thing.

"Is it right in the case of lords and kings, who can command people to go and die?" she asked them gently.

They had to quickly shake their heads. She'd already shown them the history of the war Arslan had won. That had come early in their training at the hands of the weapons master. Death on the battlefield was terrible. When it was necessary, like it had been for Arslan, they could understand. But to die because of the reasons the Lusitanians had entered into Pars for - the greed of their king and high priest - that was definitely wrong.

Neylan returned to the main point. "The nobles and Arslan are still learning to work together. As Arslan grows and learns from each of these decisions he makes, they will eventually have an understanding. It will take a long time. Sometimes it takes ten years to understand what a decision today will do to the people in a nation. Why does he ask his advisors for their thoughts?"

They'd answered that before, but this time they thought about it a little more. "Because they already have years to see?" Merkan finally asked.

"Yes," Neylan answered softly in approval. "He is asking them to explain to him what they understand will happen within those years he can't see yet. If he can understand it before making the decision, he can save himself and the people a painful eight to ten years from making an uninformed decision. So, why does he still do what he wants, and makes the nobles learn in those years?"

That one they couldn't answer, frowning and shaking their heads after thinking about it as hard as they could. "Because the policies of the kings before were corrupt, in order to support their own pride and selfishness. The nobles have enjoyed being able to be that prideful and that selfish. Arslan is trying to set the balance of Pars right, so that not only the nobles can feel happy, but so that all the people can be happy and their burdens made lighter."

Both young boys felt very enlightened. "I'd want that," Emin said, nodding enthusiastically.

"Indeed," Neylan agreed. "Thus he asks for the nobles' patience, hoping that as the changes make the people happier the nobles will see that it's a better way to live. He may eventually have to fight the worst of his nobles, who refuse to give up their prideful and selfish ways. He'll try to remove them from their places in the ways of kings and nobles first, giving their titles to others who are worthy of taking care of the people of Pars. Why might that not be enough?"

They had a clue for that one from the wars. "Because they won't want to give up the things they want," Merkan said darkly.

"Even so," Neylan agreed. She paused, then looked at both boys for a long moment. They could feel her love and concern for them. "My sons. You exist to help him in those times." They both sat up and blinked in great surprise. "People age. With age comes weakness. King Arslan is still entering the time of his strength. He will be strong for a long time, but his advisors will age in that same time and begin to lose their strength. You are younger than even he is, and will grow into your strength as they lose theirs."

She reached out a hand and took Merkan's hand in hers. "You have seen Marzbān Daryun and his loyalty to King Arslan."

Merkan nodded several times. He revered the very strong Marzbān of Marzbāns and his gentle leading of the king. "You are his son." Merkan almost couldn't breathe for the shock. She waited for him, then gently said, "You will take his place when his sword arm is no longer strong enough to defend King Arslan. I would wish for you to also stand at his side in the court, to learn how to advise wisely. Learn also from Narsus, who is even wiser." Merkan gave a promise nod, but was having troubles absorbing the news.

Neylan turned to take Emin's hand with her other hand. "What is your favorite story from the history of the war of King Arslan?" she asked him.

Emin sat up straight and with excitement said, "When King Arslan was good and kind enough to win even the heart and loyalty of a man from another kingdom, and Jaswant saved him with strength and cunning."

Neylan nodded wisely. "Even so. Jaswant is your father. You in your time will also learn from his own mouth how to serve King Arslan the same."

Emin sat in as much shock as Merkan, if not more. For some time Neylan just sat with them holding their hands to help anchor them as their minds swam to know that those great noble heroes of valor were their fathers. It would be very large shoes to fill and they were still small.

When they shifted, unsure, their mother smiled at them. "You can do it. Just do your best each day. Each day you become a little stronger, a little more what you want to be if you focus on that goal.

"Remember kindness and gentleness. Do not become ruthless and forgetful in your efforts to reach those goals. Neither of those men did, nor have they. They have only desired to serve to the best of their abilities, and work hard each day to reach it."

Neylan paused, then rocked back a little, looking into the distance. "I think I will gift the two of you a full day each, to show you. If you see it, you will understand it."

The next day, she arrived very early in Merkan's room and woke him. Sleepily he followed her to the watching room where a small breakfast and water had been set out for them. Neylan opened up the vision and Merkan's mouth dropped open.

Daryun, his father, was kneeling on the floor by his bed. Merkan listened as Daryun asked the Goddess for protection that day, for the strength to protect King Arslan, and for the wisdom to shut his mouth when it was going to say stupid things. It was a little embarrassing to hear him say things like, "And when I want to hit Narsus, make the blow sting but not harm." Merkan didn't think a man like his father should be doing things like that, even if he was annoyed.

There was a pause at the end of the prayer, then very quietly Daryun said, "And please, bless my son with strength and wisdom as he grows, so that he may also stand in the place King Arslan will need him. Give my regards to your priestess." Merkan blushed hard to hear his hero pray for him, so missed that Daryun also blushed just slightly.

Merkan and Neylan spent all day in that room watching everything Daryun did in that day. There was breakfast, then Daryun's personal weapons practice. Bathing and changing to arrive to tease Narsus as they walked to Arslan's room to sit with him and discuss the day's schedule.

When Daryun was doing a small task, Merkan asked, "Why does he do these little things?"

Neylan smiled. "Perhaps someday you can ask him. But what do the people around him look like when he does?"

Merkan paid attention to that as well. Or he tried to. When Daryun was just walking halls or in the street, it was easier to do. Most people watched him with admiring faces. Some even called out and received kind answers. When Daryun was kind to the stableboy, Merkan approved like the stableboy did. He would also like to receive kindness from someone of that stature.

By the time Daryun finally retired to his bed late that night, Merkan was very tired. He wasn't used to sitting still that long, although he greatly appreciated having the opportunity to watch a man he'd always admired, and now had a special connection to. As they left the room of watching, he paused, then looked at his mother. "Can I do that more? Not every day, but on days I want to understand better?"

Neylan hesitated, then said, "Let me see if the Goddess will grant it to you. For me to do it myself is very tiring. I'll sleep for two days, then give Emin his day and sleep for another two. Then I will ask the Goddess." She smiled at Merkan. "You can also go there and request it of Her at any time, if I'm not already there. If you let me know in advance, I'll know you're there and not intrude."

Merkan bowed low. "Thank you, Mother." He impulsively wrapped his arms around her and she hugged him back in return. He looked up into her blue eyes, surrounded by her wavy white hair and for just a moment was struck by a sense of familiarity. It confused him, and he could only say to himself that of course she would be since she was his mother.

* * *

*Emin: one who is trustworthy or confident


	13. Lessons

Merkan spent many hours in the room of viewing after that. He'd thought a long time about what he'd seen in that one day. One of the things had been the meeting of the advisors toward the end of the day with the king. In that meeting Merkan had learned that when Arslan met with the nobles in the court, he was coming in strength, not in ignorance. Most of those issues were discussed in the meeting of advisors before they came to the court.

Arslan was asking for advice not for the first time in the court on any issue. He was asking openly so the nobles understood that he did ask for advice, and so that the nobles understood what his advisors were saying, but he'd already had many days to ponder the issue and all of the things related to it.

Some days Merkan went only to watch Arslan. The Goddess was merciful and willing to call for him to come when it was time for those meetings to happen so he could watch what Arslan did with all of his advisors. He was surprised when on one occasion he was called in and it was a meeting between Narsus, Daryun, and two other advisors, but without Arslan present.

That was an interesting lesson, that even the advisors met to discuss the issue in the details to come to an agreement - or at least an understanding - before they took it to the king. With a frown at the end of that lesson, Merkan asked the Goddess, "What if they're wrong, and it will hurt the people of the kingdom, yet they've all agreed to advise the king that direction?"

He felt approval. If a wicked council of advisors did that, a king who would listen to them as closely as Arslan listened to his could do much harm to the people of a nation. That's why he was worried. Another vision opened up, and he was given to understand it had happened in the past. In it Arslan was advised by his advisors, and then by the nobles. Surprisingly, after a lot of thought, Arslan had sided with the nobles. That didn't happen often.

When his advisors confronted him about it later, Arslan had explained. "I know that it would be perhaps better to have not gone that way, but you remember my first lesson with letting slaves go free. I think in this case it will be the same. The people and the nobles have lived that way too long. It isn't an issue that causes people great grief at this time. Make note of it and we'll try again in fifteen to twenty years."

Arslan had smiled his innocent, disarming smile. "Even you've warned me that to make only changes against the noble's way of life is to make them angry and discontent. Three of those men were going to turn against me. In letting them have this concession, they're mollified again. I'm watching them as well. If they continue to fight against me and I against them, we'll have to fight them in earnest sooner than I'm ready to." All of his advisors gave up immediately.

Merkan sat with his mouth open, then he closed it and nodded sagely, folding his arms. That had been wisdom, indeed.

"It's easier to fire an advisor from his position in the court, than it is to remove a noble from power," the Goddess whispered to him. "If the council is corrupt, the king will be corrupt if he doesn't remove that corruption. Be wise in who you also take council from."

Merkan sat upright stiffly, blinking as he tried to understand. Then he thought of the Sacred Mountain. The boys didn't pay a lot of attention to what went on around them, but he'd seen his mother also talk to people and listen to them. They weren't a nation, but they were a lot like a city. If he listened to people who said corrupt things, and he wasn't paying attention, he would also come to believe things that weren't right. Then his own advice would be suspect.

With a wrinkle of his brow, he asked, "Who does Marzbān Daryun listen to? Who does Narsus listen to?"

He was shown many small moments. Often the two listened to and talked to each other, actually, discussing issues even outside the smaller advisors meetings. Often they sent out their servants and juniors to listen to nobles and people in the street so that those words could come to them as well. Merkan spent the whole rest of that day and into the night in that lesson, enthralled and soaking up the teachings.

He spent even more time in those studies after that, wanting to understand the wisdom of those men, wanting to understand how they interacted with the king. Sometimes the Goddess would teach him something he didn't know he needed to know. Like what the private relationship between Arslan and Narsus' servant Elam was. Merkan was utterly shocked it was casual, and an honest friendship.

In slightly more public moments, Arslan was always polite and cordial with Elam, like he was with any servant, but Merkan had noticed that he listened almost just as intently when Elam spoke as when any of his advisors did. It was quite surprising to learn it was because he really did have the same relationship (almost) with Elam that Merkan had with Emin.

He was then shown the meeting of the two, early after Arslan was in hiding. Then he understood very well. A relationship had been born through the shared hardships, and Arslan had worked hard to make Elam relax enough to finally be the friend the lonely prince had needed so much. Merkan had been lonely before Emin had been born and treasured their friendship as well. And Elam always said wise things, even if he often did it with irritation at an innocent question of the innocent king.

Merkan smiled. He would want to be someone like that for King Arslan. And then he realized why Daryun teased Narsus and Narsus repaid the favor. They were also friends. They met frequently just the two of them to talk for that reason as well. He hoped deep in his heart that he would also be able to have a friend to walk with when he was in the capital city.

"It's hard to find a good friend," the Goddess whispered to him. "Many will come wanting something you can give them, but it is pretense. Many will come who wish to be corrupt advisors, or who will want to sway your advice to their own selfish desires. Be patient and eventually that friend will come.

"Work hard to be a friend to the king and he will eventually come to accept it, like he had to work constantly but gently on Elam, although he trusts easily at first. Don't betray that trust and eventually he will also let you in. If you make an error, quickly admit it, apologize, and work harder to do better, even if the trust has to be rebuilt. All make errors and must fix them."

The Goddess showed him a very difficult time in the king's history, where he trusted someone who betrayed that trust. Merkan would have been angry himself at what was done. But the lesson didn't end there. That person eventually learned that they had been in error and had finally gone to the king and repented. He wasn't allowed into the inner circle of advisors, but eventually the king did come to face the man with kindness and respect again, listening to his words of advice when the man felt it important enough for them to be said.

"There is always a penalty equal to the price to be paid for the error. Smaller errors can be forgiven and trust more fully restored. In that case, however, the breach was too much to be completely rebuilt. Watch yourself so you understand," the Goddess warned and instructed.

Merkan pondered, then humbly prayed, "Goddess, please let me see when I'm going to step that wrongly. Warn me with a night vision so I remember this time. If I have become so prideful as to believe I am right regardless, I will pay the price to learn proper humility, I suppose, and then be sad, but if I can be turned before it happens, I'm sure I'd rather." He received comforting warmth, and again the same gentle warning.

Merkan spent a night pondering, then asked a new thing when he went back. "Perhaps I should see a few examples of how easy it is to hear words that can be believed that shouldn't be, and the consequences. But not on the scale of kings and wars. I've had those examples. How is it the nobles stop caring for their people in the way they should?"

That was a month of lessons, if not more. Merkan had never experienced so many types of people and ways of seeing the world and believing in his life. Everyone in the mountain lived a gentle life, blessed by the Goddess. Even watching King Arslan and his court didn't really show it.

Merkan was wiser than most men by the time he came out of those lessons, and probably a lot more frightened of men, too, truth be told. He had to go have a week of talking to his mother about it all to calm down. He was much stronger in his core after that, though, especially since she showed him examples of strong men who loved their families and their people to restore his hope in humanity.

He learned that it would be his choice to become what he wanted to become, and for another week he carefully thought about that, and made his decisions right then. Then the Goddess came and blessed him, pleased with that effort. Again, though, she reminded him to be wary of himself. He could only humbly ask her to help him. He knew that time passed and people forgot things. He did all the time.


	14. Younger Brother

Emin watched his older brother suddenly go into a focused frenzy of learning after they'd been shown one full day in the lives of their fathers. Emin wasn't old enough yet to understand why Merkan wanted to do that so strongly. They still had their weapons practice together, and meals, and sleeping, but Merkan stopped going to the classes they'd had together.

It wasn't like Merkan had to. Emin was only five and a half. He had three years to catch up to Merkan still. He always would, having been born that much farther behind. Still, he finally went to his mother and climbed up into her lap. She held him and smiled her love to him like always.

"Mother, Merkan won't play with me anymore. He's spending all his time in the room of viewing." He frowned, wanting his playmate back.

Neylan brushed the hair back from his face. "Yes, he's suddenly become busy learning things he wants to know, hasn't he? It's a good thing, for all it makes your own days a little more lonely. He doesn't want to make you lonely. He knows how hard that is. He was lonely for three years before you were here to play with, so he knows." She frowned slightly at Emin until he relented a little. It would have been lonely with no one to play with for three years.

"Did you know I had a sister?" Neylan asked softly. Emin's eyes went wide and he shook his head. "No? I've forgotten the passage of time, then, to not have said before now," she sighed.

"Like you, I was the younger sibling, and by about as much, too." Emin was even more interested. "Melike had an important thing to do in her life - her reason for being. Just like I do. Just like Merkan does and you do also. When Melike was sent away to do her task, I was very lonely. I'd never been away from her before that." Emin's pain was his mother's pain.

"It took me a long time to not hurt so very much, but I'm still lonely for her." Emin patted her hand and leaned on her. "I watched her every day, then eventually not so much because her task was very hard, too hard for me which was why it was her task and not mine. I prayed for her every day, though."

Neylan paused and closed her eyes, remembering. "The Goddess was my comfort then. That and losing myself in my own important work. In doing that, I came to love others, and to feel needed by them also. That helped me not hurt. If I sat and did nothing, there was nothing to do but remember the hurt and pain.

"That was a waste of time," she pronounced practically, looking into Emin's brown eyes. "What is your task? What can you do to move forward on your own strength?"

It wasn't really the answer Emin wanted, and he pouted a bit first. She just held him until he finally sighed. "I want to go outside and explore the world. To walk in the trees we see in the visions, and hear the sounds of the markets."

"Good!" Neylan immediately said. "You will get to do lots of that in your life. All over the region, I promise." She pondered, then said, "I'll ask one of the older boys who goes into the village for provisions with his father to take you out onto the mountainside. He'll begin your lessons in how to live in the world on your own strength."

Her blue eyes bored into his brown ones. "It will be very hard, but I think you'll greatly enjoy those lessons. You have just the right kind of strength for them."

Emin was so surprised to get his wish he sat there and stared at her open mouthed for a long while. Finally he said, "Really? You'll really let me go outside?"

She blinked back at him. "Yes. We just don't usually. Well...," she smiled and amended, "we priestesses anyway. I've been outside the mountain more than any priestess in a very, very long time, other than my sister. I'm the first in even longer to have sons, so I guess I've been blessed in that way, too."

"Okay!" Emin liked that plan. It would keep him busy doing something he wanted to learn and might need to know for later, and give him at least someone else to do things with.

From that time, Emin spent at first hours each day, then eventually overnight times, then several days at a time outside the mountain. He and his teacher climbed all over it, practiced camping, catching animals and fishing for food, what plants not to touch or eat, and all kinds of things Emin had never imagined could be learned. It was all a lot of hard work, but he barely noticed he was having so much fun. Even getting lost was only frightening for a short while, when it did finally happen.

It was only when he tried to share that fun with Merkan that he was sad. Merkan wouldn't come out of the mountain with him. But he did listen when Emin talked at meals, and he was supportive, glad that Emin was having fun learning things. Still, Emin couldn't help but complain one day.

Merkan paused, then put his hand on Emin's shoulder. "Emin. I treasure our friendship and that you are my brother. I never want to lose that. Ever. But we have different things to learn and do in our lives." He told Emin what he'd learned the day before and Emin could barely follow along for that long.

"See? We have things that are different that we want to know. We can't learn those things and what the other one of us is learning. Who would sweep the floor if we all washed the dishes?"

Emin giggled. "Who would have that many dishes and sinks?"

"I know, right?" Merkan smiled. "Let us support each other and the king doing what we can do best. If you ever need me, or have to say something I need to hear, I will always make time for you. I may need to come find you also, if for no other reason than to remember that someone likes me."

Emin didn't like that Merkan looked a bit pained. "I've learned so many things about how hard it is to live among men outside the mountain." He paused, then said gently. "When you're old enough, please also go to the Goddess and learn those lessons, so when you go you aren't caught unawares.

"Your father is as wise as mine. Take the time to learn that wisdom before you also go to begin what you were born to do. There are more people in the world who'll try to use you and hurt you. Learn to recognize them before they can even open their mouths."

Emin looked back at his brother soberly, then promised. He'd wait until he was old enough to want to sit still that long. He still had a lot of things he wanted to learn about the outside by being in it.

After that Emin settled better, enjoying the times he did have with his brother. He particularly liked it the day he hit Merkan's sword hard enough to knock it out of his hand. "How did you do that?" Merkan asked.

Emin stood proudly. "It's from what I'm learning, working hard to live outside on the mountain. It takes a lot of strength."

Merkan's proud smile was very rewarding. "That's great! I'll practice being just enough harder on you, then."

That made Emin's heart fall and race a bit. He'd forgotten that Merkan had been practicing staying just ahead of him when they sparred. He still struggled greatly against their instructor and Merkan did, too. That meant practices for a while would mean stinging fingers and painful bruises again until Merkan learned the new level Emin had reached.

He sighed and Merkan laughed. "I'll work hard to be careful," Merkan promised.

Emin made a face at him. "Good. Be faster than last time." They bantered, missing the proud smile of their instructor. The boys were well beloved in the mountain, like their mother was.

Emin was surprised the day his mother came to him while he was in general lessons for the day, wishing he still had Merkan sitting next to him for this part. The teacher excused herself to a polite distance.

"Emin, your teacher and his father need to go to the village for supplies. They've come and asked me if they can take you with them. Do you want to go?"

Emin sat with his mouth open yet again. "I can?"

Neylan smiled. "I think most people would think you're too young to go, but I think you would learn some very important things, and the Goddess does, too. You'll be gone for nine days. I would expect you to tell them when you're getting tired. Your legs are still shorter than theirs and your strength smaller in the same measure. They've promised to watch over you well and teach you more on the way."

"Isn't it usually six days?" he asked.

"Yes. They've added in the time for your short legs."

Emin frowned at her, feeling that she was teasing him. It would be a long time, for him, even though he'd now spent three days and two nights in the woods on the side of the mountain. Then he remembered his brother's words. That watching people was important lessons, too, and he would rather do that with real people around than just visions. "Okay," he finally said. "I think it will be hard, but I want to go."

Neylan bowed her head in acceptance. "Then always remember that wherever you are, the Goddess is always watching over you. When you need help, or to talk to someone that isn't your teacher and guardian, you may talk to her." With just a little sparkle in her eye, she added, "And if you're paying close attention, you might even know when I'm watching you."

Emin blinked, then smiled. Like she always watched the king, she would also be watching over him because he was her son. "I'll try to, then," he took up her challenge.


	15. Visiting a Village

It was a large thing for Emin to leave the Sacred Mountain to visit the closest village. Larger than he'd thought, to be only six and having to take a very long journey. There was a wagon and donkey, but it was carrying the things made by the artisans of the temple to sell for the products they needed but couldn't get from within the mountain.

Emin learned when to ask to ride in the wagon. He didn't know he could still get blisters on his feet, but then climbing the mountain and the trees was different than just walking forward constantly. They taught him how to take care of the blisters, but that he would still have to walk with them until they got hard and turned into callouses. Not walking would only make it worse.

He got to see different terrain, too, since they walked for some time along the bank of a wide river. They taught him the basics of how to swim at each camping place, since the river ran slowly by small beaches at those places. They said that would be far better than falling in to drown, making everyone sad. He worked hard and learned just enough before they left that river to make him feel like he might be able to at least get out by himself on the return trip.

When they reached the village, Emin was wide-eyed. Everyone looked the same. The people weren't of the variety as in the mountain. They all had dark hair, dark eyes, and medium-dark skin, like his brother. But he knew they were in Pars, at the far south of it. He'd seen that where his father lived, everyone looked like him and his father.

It was noisier and smelled more strongly than in the mountain, too, but he wasn't too surprised by it. It just took some getting used to. His guardian had put him up in the wagon just before they reached the village and Emin understood why. He didn't want to be lost in this place either. Having shops, stalls, people, and animals milling around the market district, it would be easy for a small boy to get lost, not being able to see.

He looked first at the place and what was there, then he spent a lot of time looking at the people. He wanted to observe if he could tell if a person was nice or not, just watching them. He was pleased when he could tell. Some smiled easily, or had kind faces, like his mother. Some had stern faces, like his weapons instructor. Some had scowls and harsh voices. He decided he'd want to stay away from those last kinds.

A motion near him caught his attention and he turned to look. A teen boy looked quickly at his turning motion and gave Emin a grin. "Hey, new in town?" he asked. "Looks like you get to ride, though?"

"Yeah," Emin answered. "They said I could come this time."

The boy chatted with him until there was another movement and Emin's teacher was standing behind the village boy, his arms folded. "Give it back," his teacher demanded.

"Give what back?" the village teen asked innocently.

"What you stole."

"I've just been talking to your little brother," he insisted.

"How close to the wagon was he when you saw him, Emin?" his teacher asked him, still not smiling. Emin pointed to the place. "Did anyone come up behind you while he was talking to you?"

Emin considered that. "Not that I knew," he answered. "They'll do that?"

"Yes," his teacher answered. "Distract you from one side and then silently come from the opposite side to take something. You look on that side while I keep him here."

Emin carefully looked through the things on the wagon, having been bored enough one day of riding to discover what people would want from the mountain. He finally shook his head. "It's all here," he said.

The teen glared at Emin's teacher, who glared back. Emin moved to the place the boy had been. "Things have been moved," he answered, "but I think I noticed him early. It's all here." Wanting to experiment, before his teacher could say anything else, Emin bowed to the village teen. "I'm sorry we've worried and accused you, but thank you for talking to me anyway, and for the lesson."

The teen blinked at him. "Lesson?"

Emin nodded soberly. "I have a lot to learn. It's my first time to leave the mountain. I'm supposed to be learning how to tell which people are good and which aren't. I think it's going to be hard to learn it."

The teen stared at him, then gave a little laugh. "Aren't you a little young for that?"

Emin blinked, then smiled a little. "Yeah, but I probably need to be faster anyway. My brother's already worried I won't learn it fast enough and he's only nine."

Completely ignoring Emin's teacher, the teen leaned on the side of the wagon to talk to Emin more. "And why do you need to know?"

"Because we're going to support the King when we're older."

"Who told you that?" the grin said the teen didn't really believe him.

"My mother, the Priestess," Emin answered honestly.

The teen froze. He turned his head to look at the teacher, who looked back at him, his face still a bit dark and very distrusting. "And are you this older brother?"

"No. I'm his teacher."

"And do you teach him to tell tales?"

"No, but if you want to believe that is one, by all means, go ahead," the teacher scowled and jerked his head. "You can go now, if you want."

The teen pushed to his feet and turned away. He lifted his hand and said over his shoulder to Emin. "It was fun to talk to you, Son of the Priestess. Good luck with your lessons."

"Thank you," Emin answered. He watched the teen shake his head as he walked away, then looked at his teacher, curious.

His teacher stepped forward and spoke quietly. "He'll believe it, because he knows that we bring things from the Sacred Mountain, but it's better to not tell people that's who you are until you know you can trust them. If there are people here who want to do harm to the temple, and your mother, they'll come and kidnap you, should he sell his information since he didn't get any product to sell.

"He is a thief, untrustworthy with both items and with information. If they like the offered payment well enough, they'll sell true information, but if they're desperate they'll sell even lies as if they were truth."

Emin pondered and gave a nod. "Would it be better to say my father is a Sindhurian?"

"If you need to talk about parents at all, yes. Even better would be to lie and say we're your family."

"Why?" Emin asked. He got a very good lesson in why lies were sometimes important, even if not the best thing to do all the time.

In the end, he made them stay in the village for an extra five days, praying to the Goddess to tell his mother to not worry. He had a lot he wanted to learn, including how to walk around in villages as a child. He followed one little girl around town a whole day, his teacher following at a distance, until Emin thought he understood how to see a village from the viewpoint of someone half the size of an adult.

He was almost disappointed when he wasn't kidnapped. He would have liked to know what to do if he was. He asked on the way home as his other alternative.

He'd learned so much in that time in the village. He walked and fell asleep thinking on those things and things he could do differently, or options he might have if things happened as he imagined them. Emin finally thought he might understand his brother's fixation on his studies. There was so much to learn about their world.


	16. Giving Warning

Shortly after Emin returned from the village, as they neared Merkan's tenth birthday, the adults in their lives got together and conferenced with each other and the Goddess. Neylan bowed to their words and went out of the mountain again at night.

Daryun was still very sensitive to changes in his chambers and swung around quickly to look at her wide-eyed. He understood rather quickly, however, even before she spoke to him. "Is it time?" he asked quietly.

"It is," she said just as quietly. "I've come to give you time to prepare. I'll bring Merkan soon, with his instructor of the sword to be his retainer. He's been studying diligently, but it's time for him to hear his lessons from your own lips, and to practice in real life what he's only seen from a distance."

Daryun drew in a long breath, then let it out with a nod. "I've been trying to get ready, but to go from no family to suddenly father, it won't be easy for me, I think."

Neylan smiled. "You've been an excellent father to Arslan. I think that has been training enough. Merkan already sees you with stars in his eyes."

Daryun groaned. "And now I have to live up to such high expectations?"

Neylan laughed that time. "He's watched you be teased by Narsus enough times now I think he understands you aren't perfect. It will be sufficient." Daryun went from looking at her with an interesting expression to a flush of embarrassment that he'd been seen in such situations. Neylan bowed to him. "For a son for this past time, I thank you. Please help me finish raising him into someone who is proud to stand with Arslan."

She blinked in surprise as she rose, for Daryun had moved fast and had her arm in his hand. He held still until she recovered, which also surprised her in a different way. "Thank you for helping us at the final battle. I'm sorry we couldn't save Tahameny, so she could return to you," he said softly.

Neylan looked away. "It was sufficient. To be able to rest with the Goddess after having had such a hard life was better than being locked away in the mountain to hold those memories until she was taken by the Goddess was a relief, I'm sure."

Daryun frowned at her a little. "And now you will bring our son to me. You'll be alone again."

Neylan looked at him sharply, suspicion rising. Daryun leaned back from her expression and raised his free hand. "Ah, no. I know the answer to that one. That's not what I meant." He looked away and rubbed the back of his head. "Except..., that King Arslan is finally enthroned and I'm not quite so necessary as I was." He looked back at her a little wistfully. "If you'd come with...," he sighed and let her go. "And I keep forgetting you belong to the Goddess."

She was surprised to see he rather was moping as he turned from her. "Why do you care?" she asked him, confused.

Daryun turned back a little and raised an eyebrow at her, then thought of his answer. "Perhaps because even for all it's been such brief moments, I've discovered that your feisty strength is something that I want?" He turned towards her and sighed at her. "Every man wishes to have a woman as a companion, even if they're married to the sword, or to their work. It isn't just to have heirs, for all that's equally important."

He blinked at her, then said simply, "And honestly, if it's you I've fallen in love with, I'd rather you by my side while I'm still young enough to enjoy it. Men don't live forever, you know." Her eyebrow raised at him. He shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Narsus says that the stories say the priestesses can live for generations of men, until the Goddess is merciful enough to let them pass on."

Neylan blinked and took a breath. "Well, that's not wrong. My mother lived three or more." She'd depressed him, but it was truth. She stood there, wavering. When the Goddess' wisdom entered her, she sighed to herself. "I can make you no promises, but when I am lonely for my sons and my sister, let me come to you to receive payment for your sorrow for my sake and my sister's sake."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And that would be?"

"Let me come to you to gain a daughter." His eyes went so wide she almost laughed at him.

That feeling was cut off as she was suddenly in Daryun's arms, being held by him. "Let me bless you with that gift tonight. You'll be months waiting for her, won't you, lonely in that time?" His whispered words tempted her.

Neylan held very still, reaching for the Goddess' will. She hadn't come prepared for such a thing, nor was she sure the Goddess would approve her playing the true courtesan without orders. The Goddess sighed at her, took her home, and gave her a scolding.

When she'd properly made penance, and recovered from such a surprising thing happening to her at Daryun's hands, and of having been called the most willful of all the priestesses the Goddess had ever had, she stepped into Jaswant's room, fully expecting a knife in her breast for it. She'd ended up coming far later into the night than she'd planned, and he was already in bed. He was also already married and his wife was sleeping next to him.

Neylan was relieved when, instead of pulling his knife on her, Jaswant rose silently from his bed and asked without words if she would join him in the outer room. She bowed her head and met him there. "Thank you for remembering me without anger," she said to him first.

He looked a little confused. "Why would I be angry with the priestess of the Goddess of Pars, who helped so much in the battle for the throne?"

"I wasn't so helpful to you later," she said dryly.

He smiled his small smile. "I expected that."

Of course he had. Still, she was relieved. "I've come to warn you that I will be bringing your son to you soon. He is still very young, at only six, but his drive to learn while doing has reached a level the teachers of the mountain can't contain. He only just this last few weeks visited a village for the first time, and he made them stay five extra days so he could learn what it was to live in one as a child without coming to harm."

Jaswant stared at her, then began a soft chuckle. "That does sound like a handful. Can I even teach him anything then?"

Neylan smiled. "I'll bring him with his current teacher, a lad who has the energy to follow after him, but the wisdom to teach and see he doesn't come to harm. I would think that once you've answered all of his questions as they tumble out of him, all you would need to do was to let him loose into the city and follow after him yourself for a few days, until your own contacts understand their role in his safety and lessons. You'll understand for yourself at that point what more he needs to be prepared to stand at King Arslan's back."

She paused, then asked, "Will your wife accept him?"

Jaswant hesitated. "I'll ask her permission. If she should refuse, would I be punished for having him somewhere else than in my home?"

Neylan looked at him, puzzled. "Why would you be punished for anything you choose to do?"

Jaswant's eyes went wide and Neylan had rather the sense of deja vu, although she didn't think Jaswant was going to grab her like Daryun had. "He is the chosen son of a Goddess."

Neylan frowned a little. "No. He is your son, and mine, born because a King has a need into his future." Then she thought she might understand. "It's okay, Jaswant. Even if he of necessity had to be raised a child of the street as you had to live, he would learn what he needs to know, and would be happily content, as long as he could show up at your door to hear your stories and receive a father's love when he's fallen and skinned his knees by making errors he shouldn't have."

Jaswant sighed and slumped back against the desk he was in front of. He folded his arms. "I would be sad to do that to him. That was a hard life."

Neylan shook her head. "Because your expectations were different. Emin knows what he's to become. He will miss me, being so young, and he will need you because of that youth, but his own drive will push him forward regardless. Be the wisdom he needs here at the beginning or he'll learn things that turn him away from service to self-service, without him understanding it.

"Spend the first days learning what he knows, then what he wants to know, then perhaps you and your wife can come to an agreement all of you can live with. If it helps, we're telling him it's his apprenticeship. Perhaps she'll have more mercy on an apprentice than a son."

Jaswant nodded a thoughtful nod to that, then paused. "Does he know he's my son?"

"Yes," Neylan bowed her head briefly. "He's seen you and watched you. From even before he knew you were his father, you were his idol in the stories from the war."

Jaswant slowly went a very dark red over a pale that came over him at the same time. "Surely not," he whispered.

Neylan tipped her head, not understanding. "I've watched over you as well, like I watch over Pars and all the nations for the Goddess. Is it so strange that my son would also have seen what I've seen? In order for him to understand who he'll be protecting, he's also been taught what happened so he can understand why he would wish to. He'll listen to all your words."

Jaswant put his hand over his eyes. "And I'm supposed to live up to that?"

Daryun had said that, too. "He knows you aren't perfect," she said, like she'd said to Daryun.

Jaswant drew in a large breath, then let it out. "And he understands why I fought against Pars after that?"

"Of course," she answered.

He scowled at her. "And you're not afraid I'll corrupt him to be loyal to Sindhura instead?"

At that Neylan did hesitate. "I think you could, and I think he would be very tempted, because you are his father. It's true that I would prefer you didn't. I would prefer you allowed him the right to choose for himself who he'll be loyal to, the same as you claimed that right."

Jaswant froze at that, staring at her. He finally gave in. "You are an odd person," he finally said. "Definitely not what one would expect of a priestess."

"I am?" she asked. Then she shrugged a little, perhaps feeling a little embarrassed. "Well, she did just scold me for being the most willful of her priestesses, for all I'm sure I'm quite meek." He laughed at her and she could only blush. "My sister was even stronger."

He immediately sobered. "Yes, she was, to have lived that life. But from the perspective of men, she was the silently meek woman, only cold in the bedroom by the stories I heard. You, on the other hand, are obstinate to men's faces, and perhaps to your Goddess' as well, if she felt required to scold you. And the things you say and the way you think are odd to the understanding of men as well."

Neylan could only shrug. "I don't see it, but I do recognize there are things I don't understand."

"Indeed." Jaswant pushed back up to standing. "Is there anything more?"

"No," Neylan bowed to him. "Thank you." She disappeared to return to the Sacred Mountain.


	17. Apprenticeship

Merkan and Emil were called into the formal audience chamber of the priestess of the Goddess. Their teachers had found them to bring them, and they stood behind the boys. Since the boys hadn't ever had to be that formal in front of their mother before, they were a little nervous, and were glad to have their familiar teachers with them.

"The Goddess has spoken," Neylan said formally. "Your teachers are in agreement. You have reached the time when you are ready for your apprenticeships. It is time to leave the mountain."

Both boys stiffened, and Emin trembled. Merkan glanced at him, a slightly worried expression on his face. "Even Emin, Mother?" he asked. "He's still young, with things to learn."

"Even so," Neylan answered. "He learns differently. What you want him to understand he will learn sufficiently."

Still, Emin's hand reached for Merkan's and his older brother took it, holding on tightly. Emin wasn't sure he was old enough to be separated from his family, even if he did have things he was excited to learn.

His mother smiled at him softly. "You will still be with family. You will be with your fathers. It is time to learn from them, while they also have the strength of sufficient youth to teach you what you need to know to walk the face of the earth and the land of Pars."

Her eyes looked between them. "It will be hard at the beginning to not see each other, and it will be years, likely, before you're able to reunite. Spend as long as you need together before we go, and never forget your bond as brothers. I will always watch over you, and will come if you need me and I'm allowed. Pause regularly to listen for the wisdom of the Goddess, and seek her help, even if it's to ask for help for your brother so you can rest easier."

Her eyes went to the man behind Merkan and the teen behind Emin. "Your teachers will go with you and be with you. Continue to listen to them. Ask them your questions. When you're lonely, remember that they also care for you and are companions you can rely on."

Emin felt Merkan relax rather a lot at that. He felt a little better, too, but... "Mother, I'm only six," he said, his lower lip trembling.

Neylan opened her arms for Emin and he ran to hold her. Merkan followed after him a little slower and stood nearby. "King Arslan was not much older when the King and Queen of Pars adopted him and took him into the castle. He had many things to learn and needed to be in that place at that time."

She made Emin look her in the eyes as a few drops of tears fell from his. "You were very brave on your journey to the village. You will be brave again. Just like you were excited and focused on learning what you wanted to learn, you'll be lost in your learning there at the feet of your father, in his city." She smiled her soft teasing smile. "Don't forget me in your busy focus."

"I won't," Emin answered immediately, concerned that should ever happen. He decided then and there he would always take time every day to talk to the Goddess and try to feel his mother watching over him. He'd forgotten on the trip to the village, there had been so much to see, do, and learn. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He promised himself.

For the next three days Merkan and Emin stayed together, talking about their futures, their hopes and desires. They promised to never forget each other and to stay true to the wisdom their mother and the Goddess had been trying to teach them. And they promised to meet again in King Arslan's court, ready to support him when they'd learned enough to stand with him.

They spent the last day with their mother, needing to have her close to them, too. Even Merkan finally had to say, "Mother, it won't help us to never see you again." His eyes pled with her like Emin felt, not wanting to leave her.

Neylan considered it for a moment, then sighed softly and smiled. "Then shall I promise to come and visit you? Once per year at least, on your birthday. It is right for the mother to come and see that you are growing well and strong, and to make sure you're being taken care of properly. They will not begrudge me that much."

Both boys were confused, "They? Not the Goddess?" Merkan asked.

Neylan smiled. "It's another thing of men you don't know yet. Once apprenticed, the youth lives with the house they're apprenticed to, leaving their childhood behind to focus diligently on their studies. Even among men, however, they don't complain when the family comes to confirm they are well, as long as it's brief."

"But, if we're with our fathers?" Merkan asked, even more confused.

Neylan laughed a little laugh. "It is different, yet the same. They are not my husbands. I am the Goddess', not to be owned by a man. Thus I am a stranger in their houses, but you are my sons. They won't begrudge me the visits as long as you stay properly focused." The boys settled for that much, even though they would have liked more that day, particularly Emin.

That evening, the boys packed the few belongings they wished to take with them and a sufficient amount of clothing. The next morning the temple chef cooked them their favorite breakfasts, and sent packages of their favorite snacks to add to their packs.

Their teachers arrived with their own packs ready, meeting them and Neylan in the formal receiving room. Neylan was dressed in a yellow summer skirt and light bodice of the women of Pars, a veil covering her hair. Merkan and his teacher were dressed for the capital of Pars. Emin and his teacher were dressed in the common clothing of Sindhura.

The brothers hugged each other very tightly, then hugged their mother. She took a hand of each of them and their teachers put a hand on their charge's shoulder. Then the receiving room was gone and they were standing in a room they recognized.

Both boys stiffened to be in that room, and immediately bowed to the white-haired young man sitting in shock before them. When they looked up, it was to a lot of surprised faces in the room, even Daryun's for all he'd been warned. Eventually the men and women in the room got ahold of themselves and bowed, although Arslan only stared.

"I apologize for interrupting," Neylan said calmly. "May I have Marzbān Daryun meet us out in the inner garden?"

"Certainly," fell from Arslan's mouth, although he didn't look like he'd known he'd said it. The room disappeared from the view of the boys and they were standing in a small inner garden. No one let go of anyone yet.

It wasn't long before they heard feet running their way. Daryun came suddenly from around a corner and didn't stop running until he was in front of them. Then he stopped suddenly, his eyes widely looking at Neylan. "Why?" he asked. "Why did you bring them all there first?"

"Because your strategist needs to understand and is already beginning to puzzle it out."

"No, he already knew," Daryun shook his head.

"Not everything he didn't. He's been given his next puzzle piece this time."

Daryun paused, then took the time to settle down. His eyes glanced over the people with Neylan, then settled on the older child.

Merkan let go of his mother's hand and stepped forward to bow to his father. "I am Merkan. Mother tells me I am your son." He rose to look his father in the eye, acting calm but surely not feeling it. "They've told me I'm ready to apprentice to you directly now. I hope to make you proud."

Daryun rose up to his full height, gulping a little as he did so, equally attempting to be calm on the exterior. "She warned me in advance, which I'm grateful for. I will do my best to teach you what I know."

"Thank you," Merkan answered, relieved, but trying to not show it. He turned to his instructor. "This is Bekarys, my weapons instructor and retainer. He will be coming with me."

Bekarys bowed to Daryun, but Daryun froze, and then bowed back. "As in, _the_ Bekarys?"

Bekarys smiled a small smile. "I suppose one might think so," he answered humbly, but said no more.

Daryun glanced at Neylan, but she gave him no information nor purchase either. "Please tell Merkan his grandfather's story and your story, of why you chose to follow King Arslan. Then teach him to become a Marzbān among Marzbāns so he can properly walk at the King's side. Let him also learn at the side of Strategist Narsus, so he can learn proper cunning and sight without also learning wicked pride at the same time.

"I've promised I'll come and visit Merkan yearly, so he can remember he has a mother who loves him, and to see that he has proper clothing as all growing boys need, and other necessities from his family." Daryun scowled at her. She ignored it.

Neylan turned to Merkan and reached out her hand to him. He went to her and she kissed him on the top of his head. "May the Goddess bless you. Be patient with your father as he learns what it is to be one. Remember he's also trying hard for your sake, and the King's."

"Yes, Mother," he answered and kissed her on the cheek.

He stepped back and the three who still had places to go disappeared.

Merkan took in a deep breath and turned back to Daryun to see him slump in defeat. "You know," Daryun said, "I will take care of things like any father would. She didn't have to go that far."

Merkan smiled. "I think she was teasing the both of us."

Daryun's eyebrow rose. "She does that?"

Merkan blinked at him. "Yes. Not often, but she does like to."

Daryun muttered about certain women under his breath, then sighed. "Well, come back. They all want to know just what's going on and won't leave me alone until they do know, after that." He turned to lead them back to the King's chamber, muttering about that under his breath as well.

Merkan glanced at Bekarys with a small wicked smile. Bekarys rolled his eyes. "Yes. Your mother does that to people outside the temple, too." As Daryun looked at them with wide eyes over his shoulder, Merkin finally had to let the bubbling laugh out a little.

Daryun sighed as he looked forward again. "Maybe I don't want it, after all," he muttered one more time, then let it go.

-:-:-:-:-

Emin was holding on to his mother's hand very tightly when they arrived at their next destination. She squeezed it back and gave him a quick, kind smile and she didn't let go. They were in the outer courtyard of a large home. "Ho, the house," she called.

Emin relaxed a little to know they'd more properly show up at this place than right in the middle of an important meeting of the king. But then the king of this country didn't recognize the Goddess, nor her priestess.

A servant stepped into the courtyard, looking for them. Neylan bowed and the boys with her bowed as well. "Can you please tell Jaswant his apprentice has arrived?"

The servant blinked at them for a moment, then bowed. "Certainly? Please wait here." He disappeared into the rest of the manor.

Emin looked up at his mother with a bit of a frown. "Why would he think father wouldn't have an apprentice?"

Neylan smiled at him. "Because he's also a servant in this place, even still."

"Why?" Emin asked, his eyes going wide.

Neylan leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Because it's easier to be a spy as a servant than a lord. He's refused lordship, although he has accepted the pay of one." Emin settled immediately.

"Are you sure it's okay to tell them that such a person has an apprentice, then, my lady?" Emin's teacher whisper-asked back.

Neylan smiled a little more. "They don't know that's what he is," she said.

As soon as Jaswant was standing in front of them, his eyes on the young child, Neylan said for the courtyard to hear. "I'm pleased that such a thing would draw you out, you good-for-nothing father. Here he is, as I promised you I'd prove to you. It's far more obvious that he's _your_ son than mine. At least feed him!" She shoved Emin (gently) towards Jaswant, who backed up in surprise, holding up his hands.

"Surely not," Jaswant answered back. "Not that way."

Neylan glared at him. " _You_ tell him your excuses and what you think your life was like, then. Perhaps he'll learn your ways properly that way, instead of being corrupted by the youths where you left me to languish. If in the end you can't abide him, then send him away into all the nations for him to search for his 'real' father, if it isn't you. Perhaps he'll in the process learn the wisdom you left along the roadside years ago."

Emin, rather shocked himself, like Jaswant seemed to be, turned back and held on to his mother tightly. Neylan leaned down to kiss him and whisper. "He's already expecting you, but his wife is unsure. If she won't let you in the house, he's promised to still be true to you and be your father as best he can. You must also learn this kind of obfuscation and play."

Neylan looked over to the teen. "See he's cared for enough, if his father won't. I'm tired of starving to feed the two of you. If you want to keep eating, you'll obey your master properly."

Emin's teacher reached out and took Emin's hand and gently pulled him off of Neylan. With one last soft hand on Emin's head, and a look at Jaswant, Neylan disappeared. Jaswant protested without words, leaping forward with an outstretched hand, as if to keep her there. He turned wide eyes on the boys.

Emin's teacher bowed to him. "Sir Jaswant, I am Emin's guardian, Onur. I'm sorry we must impose." Emin bowed with him, still looking rather miserable.

"No, no," Jaswant waved a hand, then sighed quietly to himself, "Truly she is strange." Returning to normal conversational tones, if perhaps including resignation, he said, "Please, come in and we'll see what can be done."

He paused, then crouched down to Emin's height to look into his eyes. He was thoughtful as he studied the face of his son. "It's a hard thing to feel rejected so suddenly, isn't it?" he said kindly. "I think she loves you, though. She didn't just walk out on you like most starving women would. Instead she has tried to find a place you might be able to call home and have meals sufficient to see you grow up."

Emin's eyes went wide, then he bowed and while he was close enough to Jaswant's ears to be heard, he said quietly, "I was more surprised since she didn't warn me. I would have played my own part better if she had." His anger came out a bit too much, but he didn't care.

Jaswant chuckled softly as Emin rose to look into his eyes again. "I also," he whispered. He pushed up to standing again. "Well, strong women are not to be trifled with, are they?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Emin shook his head. "Particularly when one is your mother."

Jaswant's laugh rolled through the courtyard, making Emin smile timidly at him.


	18. A New Marzbān Heir

Arslan was still trying to come out of his daze. Others around him were commenting in amazement. A hand fell on Arslan's arm, pulling him back to the room. "It was shocking to see your mother, wasn't it?" He nodded dumbly.

By all rights, he'd still not properly grieved the Queen. It had been hard to do more than a simple mourning when she'd been killed, the same as the King. They'd never been truly parents to him, of their own choice.

This wasn't that, though. He turned to look with wide eyes at Narsus. "But I think that was _really_ my mother."

Narsus gave him a piercing look. "Why would you say that?" he asked, searching for more information as he did.

"Because my heart said it was," Arslan answered. His brow wrinkled as he turned away to think on that thought. _How could a woman who looked exactly like Queen Tahameny, but wasn't, be his birth mother?_

"Well," Narsus finally answered, "perhaps when Marzbān Daryun returns to explain himself, we'll understand better."

Arslan nodded without looking at him, or up from his thoughts. Narsus continued to inspect him from the corner of his eye, however, watching over him. Arslan was so used to it now, he barely paid any attention to it.

The door to the room finally opened again to let in Daryun and two of the five people who'd so suddenly come then gone again. Daryun led the other two forward until they were properly in front of Arslan, although not within the council area.

Daryun bowed and the other two bowed with him. "King Arslan –"

Arslan interrupted, rather rudely but it blurted out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Who was that woman, Daryun?"

Daryun's mouth hung open for a bit as his head snapped up, then he rose from his bow. Smoothly he said, "That was the priestess of the Goddess of Pars, who lives in the Sacred Mountain, Your Majesty."

Arslan's eyes snapped open wider than they'd been for a very long time. "It _was_?! That's what – ? Why does she look like my mother?"

Daryun glanced at Narsus who shifted and said, "During our research into your background, and according to what Gieve was able to learn when he searched out the Sacred Mountain, we believe the two women were sisters, Majesty."

Arslan wasn't willing to believe that. Daryun cleared his throat, "At the very least, they are definitely from the same clan and family."

Arslan finally snapped his mouth closed. "I guess that stands to reason, if I'm of the line of original kings, that they'd also have watched over the temple since that time." His advisors nodded, agreeing with that line of thought. He finally had enough presence of mind to pay attention to Daryun's guests and looked at them.

He tipped his head. The boy actually looked a little like Daryun, come to think of it. Except his eyes that were so oddly blue in the dark face and under the dark hair. Arslan knew what that much was like, and more. He'd seen no one else with white hair but the two women they'd just been talking about. It was interesting that he shared that much with the boy.

"King Arslan," Daryun started over, "the priestess has asked me to teach Merkan, and take him on as my heir. His retainer and teacher's name is Bekarys." Even Arslan blinked to hear a revered warrior's name from ancient lore. Perhaps they'd both come from the Sacred Mountain and the same clan, then.

"And how did you answer?" Arslan finally asked.

Daryun blushed a little. "I accepted. I'll hope for a happy retirement some day."

"Very well." Arslan smiled at the newly adopted son. "Welcome to Ecbatana. I don't envy you your lessons. Daryun's Uncle was my teacher of the same when I came at about your age, and Daryun is worse than he was, I'm sure. I'll look forward to seeing what you can do, though."

Merkan gave a wry smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'm sure I'll sleep hard at night for a while. I'm sorry our coming has interrupted your important meeting."

Bekarys bowed slightly. "Perhaps a paige could show us where the practice ground is, and we'll keep ourselves busy until Marzbān Daryun can be released for long enough to acquire quarters for us? Merkan hasn't had this day's practice yet."

"Certainly," Arslan answered.

Elam rose to his feet and walked to the door. He called for a paige and stood at the door. Merkan and Bekarys bowed to Arslan, then Daryun, and allowed themselves to be seen out the door. When Elam had returned to his place, there were looks around the room. Daryun refused to look at any of them.

"So...when did you manage that? When you were being watched over by said priestess in a certain encampment?" Daryun was teased.

"With that deep a slice in my side?" he scoffed. "Not likely. I slept that whole time, you know. The only person I knew was ever there was Jaswant every morning."

Narsus shifted, a slight frown on his face. "The other child... rather looked like Jaswant, didn't he?" Everyone blinked at him, not having really paid much attention to the other child. He looked at Daryun out of the corner of his eye. "I wonder if he was also being taken for an apprenticeship?"

Daryun stared at him for a moment, then turned away a little cool. "Like I would know what the Goddess and her priestess do." He was sour for a moment, then looked up at Arslan and said soothingly, "I do know that they plan far in advance for what they see is coming for Pars, and do their best to set things in place to see that peace will prevail. I'll be sufficiently content if Merkan is able to stand even somewhat in my shoes, to protect you when I no longer have the strength to.

"Just that hope is enough for me to relax a little more. If the Goddess was willing to be merciful and grant us both that gift, I'll choose to be grateful. ...And leave random musings with no answer to the fanciful Strategist," he said the last with the same sour he'd had before. He actually missed sharing the duty of watching over Arslan with Jaswant, Arslan knew without him saying.

"When our meeting is done, I'll go and watch from the shadows to see what he's already learned so I know how much work I'll have to do." Daryun looked towards the door the two had left through. "I wonder how much he's already learned?" he mused.

"You would think that living in the Sacred Mountain, not much," another said dryly, "but with a teacher by that name, perhaps more than one would think?" The others nodded, wondering the same.


	19. Testing the New Marzbān Apprentice

Merkan studied the walk to the practice grounds. He'd seen almost all of the main parts of the castle in his lessons at Shrine Mountain, but he'd not been there to put it together until now.

The practice ground was full of juniors, from children near his age to older teens, all under the tutelage of older warriors. Some were like him - a single tutor to one child. Many were groups being watched over by a single warrior who walked through them, making comments as they either sparred against each other, or practiced forms in the air.

The found an empty space with enough room to not interfere with others and took up their starting poses, having left their packs at the side of their practice area. They were holding practice swords they'd picked up on their way past the racks of them. Bekarys paused and firmly said, "They will come at the end of their meeting to watch and test what you can do. Don't wear yourself out early. You may even have to defend yourself against your father before we're released from here."

Merkan paused, his eyes going wide. He'd been ready to work hard from the beginning. "We'll begin with seeing if you can continue to remember your lessons of how to spar against those lesser than yourself. Begin with teaching someone newly come to the sword."

Merkan understood. He would use less of his own power and strength at the beginning that way. It took a lot of thought and effort to do that kind of lesson, though, particularly against the strong Bekarys. He didn't have the outward physical signs a true new swordsman would have to give Merkan the clues he needed. With a firm nod and a deep breath, Merkan took his stance again, and attacked.

Bekarys took the blows as lightly as any new swordsman would, allowing Merkan to judge quickly to what level he should work. When Bekarys had walked through all the practice blocks, Merkan halted and motioned for him to attack. Again, they went through them softly so that Merkan could practice not holding the blocks too strongly, but strongly enough to teach the forms correctly.

When that level had been practiced three times through, Bekarys paused and gave the sign. Merkan took another breath, felt for the next level, where his brother had been. That was easier to remember because of the recent practice. They practiced that three times through, his belly tightening as he wished it was his brother on the other side. He would miss that.

He worked hard to remember the next level and focus on it so he wouldn't have to think of his separation from his brother. He was where he needed to be and he needed to focus from now on. Still, when the first round was completed, Bekarys stopped him. "What is it?"

Merkan lowered his sword, and then his head. "It reminded me of Emin. I'm sorry."

Bekarys was silent for a bit, then shook his head. "Of course it would have today. Take the time to practice your centering and breathing. Grieve when it comes, but only for as long as you need to, or can spare. That will help it to leave you sooner, to not have to also deny him."

Merkan raised an eyebrow, but recognized a teaching from a veteran warrior, so agreed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and thought on his brother lightly, with fondness, feeling the ache of not having him by his side until it began to fade. When he was able to say a prayer for the peace and protection of his brother to the Goddess, he was finally able to relax and return to the focus he needed on the practice and battlefield.

"Okay," he gave a firm nod to Bekarys, who had waited patiently in silence. They took their stances again and Merkan began again. This time he was able to make it through the whole of the teaching practice until he reached his own full strength. Then Bekarys pressed him, making him take a full rehearsal and lesson.

When Bekarys released him, Merkan huffed and puffed as he rested his hands on his knees, as always. He watched from the corner of his eye as Bekarys hailed one of the servants standing around the field and requested water for the two of them.

As they drank thirstily, Merkan could feel someone, or more than one, approaching. He took the waterskin from his lips, wiped them, and turned. He bowed to his father, but didn't recognize the other man with him. The fighting around them quieted down as others turned to see the famed Marzbān of Marzbāns on the practice field and going to speak with a new person. Merkan swallowed a little dryly, for all he'd just had water, and tried to not pay attention to that.

"Marzbān Sām, this is Merkan, my son, and his instructor Bekarys," Daryun introduced them to another man Merkan was very surprised to meet. Daryun turned to them. "Marzbān Sām is head, over the training ground."

Merkan bowed to Sām. "It is an honor to meet the noble Marzbān Sām, hero along with my father."

Sām blinked at him, then said wryly, "Some would not say the same. Most in fact."

Merkan shook his head. "The Goddess honors all who served Pars at that time, in whatever way they believed was right and best. In that way, peace was able to be brought about, and the prophecy fulfilled to it's utter extent."

Both men stared at him. "What do you know about the prophecy?" they both asked at once.

"Everything," Merkan answered honestly. "She taught it to me in my earliest lessons."

Daryun put his hand to his face briefly. "Let's not let that get around, shall we? No one really does know about it even now."

Merkan indicated he understood. Sām gave Daryun a look saying he would have to say more later, regardless, but changed the subject. "I've been watching you, since Daryun told me you might be showing up soon and asked me to see what you could do. Explain to me the first part of your lesson."

Merkan answered that honestly also. "I asked Sir Bekarys to teach me how to teach others who are weaker. We were practicing the levels of understanding and capability. I only have the first two levels understood sufficiently well."

"Oh?" Sām asked. "I wonder." He looked around the field, where even the teachers were having a hard time wanting to keep their students busy. The testing of new people always brought great interest from others. "Let's see how you do against those who are really in those positions then."

Merkan stiffened. "Do you have anyone who is new to the sword, to test the first level? Say, within the first week of lessons or so?"

"So early?" he thought it was a tease.

"Well, for people this large. I learned it for a three and four-year old."

"So young?" was asked in amazement.

"Yes," Merkan said humbly. He was glad now he had. Emin really hadn't gotten the best, having his total education in these matters cut off so quickly. To have gotten to start earlier was a good thing.

"They begin early where you come from, then," Sām commented. Neither Merkan nor Bekarys answered him. Sām looked around the field and called a boy similar in age and size to Merkan over. It would do sufficiently he supposed.

Merkan immediately introduced himself, apologized for the sudden testing in difficult circumstances, made necessary because he was being tested, then asked the boy to show him what he already knew, since he hadn't had time to watch anyone else.

He let the boy slice and stab at the air for only one minute, then held up his hand. "Thank you. That's enough." He took five patient minutes to teach the boy a better hold on his practice sword, then stood in his own stance in front of him. "Please attack first."

The boy did, and Merkan met him properly, with just enough strength to teach him what strength he would still need to learn, but not enough to make him lose his sword. It was more strength than he was used to using against Emin, since he was facing someone his own size, but it was still lighter than Merkan could bring to bear. He encouraged the boy, and met the next blow. He only let it go on for three minutes, then stopped him and switched to attacks.

He went slowly enough the boy could see the blows coming. When his 'student' fumbled with the first block, Merkan paused and patiently explained it to him, with a side-by-side demonstration, then did it again, three times in a row until the boy was blocking with confidence. He went to the next attack. That one was met better, so he only had the boy practice it until he was sufficiently confident again.

Not wanting to waste the time of the Marzbān's he didn't do the full set of forms, keeping it to only three attacks so the boy practiced the three equivalent blocks. Then he stopped the boy with a raised hand and stepped back to look at his testers. "Was that sufficient, or shall I continue?"

"It's sufficient for that level," Sām answered, his arms folded and his eyes keen. He raised a finger and the boy stepped back. A slightly older teen took his place.

Merkan took a breath. He again introduced himself, apologized for the unexpected testing that was his own fault, and took up his stance. He inspected the boy's stance, then began with a few slightly faster attacks until he had a feel for what the boy understood and his skill level. Alternating attacks and blocks, he sparred with the boy for five minutes, then held up his hand.

"When you swing the backhanded blows, they waver due to lack of strength in your wrist." He put his sword in his left hand and walked to stand closer to him. "I've found this exercise very helpful," he demonstrated slowly, then sped it up to the speed he was comfortable with. "Once you can do that for half an hour while doing your book studies, add a lighter stick so you feel what the length of the sword will do to it, and add to the strengthening. I did that practice while waiting around in the hallway all the time."

He looked up and smiled. "And of course, after that, every time you're waiting for your turn to spar, practicing it with the practice sword will really strengthen it. I ached for the first week of that practice. I'm sure if I was allowed to swing real steel around, I would ache again. That's even more heavy."

Merkan watched the boy attempt the motion, helping him move his wrist correctly until he had it on his own. Then he stepped back and looked at his testers again. This time Sām nodded and the boy bowed and moved off. By this time all of the instructors on the field were watching from respectful distances. Boys who didn't often get a rest weren't complaining, although some were talking in whispers. Merkan tried to still not pay attention to that.

"And how would you train the next level?" Merkan was asked.

He paused. "I haven't had to practice anything above that level yet, save in the matter of understanding what strength I need to meet them with. However, I have been thinking about the next level, since my own student was almost there." Sām nodded at the field.

Merkan couldn't ignore the others any more. He swallowed, took a breath, and turned to face all the other boys on the field. He would receive his communication and personal interaction testing as well this day, having also not had much real practice with it either.

He stepped away from his testers and bowed to the other boys. "I'm sorry to trouble you all, and interrupt your important practices. Please, can I ask for some of you to help me with my test?" He looked closely at the boys, how they stood as they waited, how they held their swords while relaxed.

He picked three pairs, specifically setting who would stand against whom. Their reactions to being asked varied, but with Marzbāns standing there waiting, they weren't slothful. Merkan asked his first pair to begin, then watched first one boy, then the other. When he thought he had their measure, he paused them quietly.

The slightly lesser one he went to and gave simple advice to, then he had them start again. This time he let them go for quite some time before he stopped them again. The one slightly more advanced was the one he turned to this time. He'd not been sure if the things that were wrong were because the boy was nervous to be placed in that situation or if it was a learned weakness. He'd let them go long enough for the boy to forget his surroundings.

"Practice each form very slowly when you first arrive on the field each day, as your warm up. It will help you to be stronger with each one, rather than to have you fail your testing when you face your instructor." He got a scowl. He waved back the other one, thanking him, and took up a stance against the one with him. "Please, I don't mean to best you, only to show you why that practice will help you." He invited the attack. It came hard and fast, and just as fast, that sword was flying through the air.

"Where you place them is sloppy because you've not learned where each swing belongs yet. If you go slowly, and even better at the first with someone watching who can properly correct you, your muscles will learn them properly and you won't die on the battlefield. As you are now, you would lose before you began your first blow. Please, do not die. Love your life enough to be serious on this field."

He looked soberly into the boy's eyes until he bowed slightly and went off to fetch his sword from another watching boy who'd picked it up. Merkan wasn't sure if he'd made an enemy or helped someone treasure their given occupation better. He was sure he'd find out soon enough.

He motioned the next pairing over. Again he took a breath, changed his focus, and asked them to begin sparing. This time, they were a better pairing than the last, as he'd surmised. This time his words were short, sharp, but not disparaging, only keeping to instructions, focused on the person who needed to hear them. Eventually he stopped them, gave them both brief instructions along with encouragement, and sent them on.

The third pairing came confident and relaxed. They were well used to being tested by Marzbāns. They were of the age to be called up into a specific company. Merkan held up his hand and stopped them immediately. He almost glared at them. "This is not your test nor competition in the eyes of Marzbāns. This is my test. Relent to it or leave." They gave him surprised looks. One submitted humbly, slightly ashamed.

The other went to pride. Merkan blinked at him, then very politely asked him to step out. When that was going to go to offense, Merkan said quietly. "Instead, I will spar with you when this one is done." The pride was back and the boy agreed.

Merkan looked around at the field again and another boy raised a hand and stepped forward. "I will spar with him," he said quietly.

"Thank you," Merkan bowed slightly and moved back to watch them, giving them the command to begin. It didn't take him long to understand what the next thing they needed to learn was. He moved and inserted himself smoothly on the side of the weaker of the two, so it became a two-on-one battle. They were both surprised, but did their best to continue.

Quietly Merkan gave them both instructions as they needed it until the three were moving more smoothly. Merkan stopped the spar then. "We won't switch at this time." He looked at his partner. "You're not ready yet to face two, but you should be soon. Keep practicing your current lessons and I'm sure you'll be there soon."

Even Bekarys had a raised eyebrow now. He'd not had opportunity to teach that to Merkan. Merkan had learned it watching others. He took a breath and turned to the prideful one. "I hate to make an enemy my first day here, but your pride demands it today, unless you can take a deep breath and face what I've just done with honesty. If you can enter this battle in that way, you will learn something new. Otherwise it will only be an unnecessary trouncing that you will hate me for forever. I would wish it wouldn't be that way. Please, change your mind."

"You're very confident," the boy answered.

"I am honest. You've placed too much pride in your position rather than worked hard to earn that place when you're old enough to claim it. I would take that place from you as my rightful prize in your loss of this battle, except I've already been given one I must reach."

"How would you take the place of a noble or a noble's son?" the boy scoffed, unafraid even in the face of the Marzbāns.

"A noble who has died in battle is no longer a noble," Merkan answered quietly. "You also do not prize life sufficiently enough. Some day your mother and father will cry for you, and it will not be at my hand, but at the hand of one you underestimated even more than you're underestimating me today. One of my first lessons, that began my lessons in how to teach, was that there is _always_ someone stronger than you on the face of the planet. If you aren't preparing to meet them, you will die."

He let the boy think about it, then invited him in, taking a stance. He'd promised him the battle. He wouldn't break that. How the boy faced Merkan was up to him. The older, and thus taller boy came at him hard. Bekarys was both slightly taller, and far stronger and faster.

That wasn't to say the boy wasn't good. He was. He was prideful for good cause, actually, other than the pride of blind nobility that was irritating. Merkan paid close attention to where the blade was, how it was wielded, and searched for any weakness he could understand and take advantage from.

It was that final understanding of the boy himself that gave Merkan the idea of how to best him. He feinted not once, but twice, and gave the real blow on the third, with a thrust that caught the boy hard enough to lift him off his feet and send him onto his rear end. As he sat gasping for air, his hand holding his wound, he stared at Merkan with wide eyes.

Before he could complain about foul play, Merkan said, "You are very good, but the best fighters don't only play fair, nor do they rely only on perfect forms. When it's your life or your opponent's, and you treasure life enough to hold on to it tightly, any opening found or made is fair because it means you're the one to walk away. If you've reached this point, it's time for you to learn against unfair opponents so you can continue to live when the real fighting begins."

Merkan turned to Sām. "Please see he's given a new personal instructor. One who has both seen battle, and has come from off the streets. It's time for him to learn how frightening real death is and still walk away alive and glad for it." He bowed to his testers and waited.

Daryun held out his hand and a practice sword was put in it. He was at Merkan so fast, Merkan almost just fell down and played dead. Instinctively he bowed to be beneath the sword blow and ran forward under the sword in Daryun's hand, swung around and swung at Daryun's back.

It wasn't his back before the blow was half-way there and Daryun's sword was there instead. Merkan halted his sword early and backed it off without touching Daryun's sword. Instead he swung it around for Daryun's shoulder. That blow turned into a block very quickly as Daryun's blow came at him fast, but he'd anticipated it. He let the attack push his sword down and spun just enough to get out from under it.

That put him at a distinct disadvantage, but Daryun's next blow hesitated like Merkan had hoped it would, having a young boy's back to him. He spun around while in his crouch hard and fast, his sword headed for Daryun's knee. Daryun's sword came a bit wildly and very hard as he worked hard to prevent the unexpected blow.

Merkan flipped his wrist so his sword was in the air without being hit, over his shoulder, and rolled sideways to get out of Daryun's range and was up on his feet again, his sword at the ready. At the look in Daryun's eyes, Merkan dropped his sword and held up both hands. Daryun froze and had to blink a few times to change focus and intent. "Why?" he asked.

"Because you have no idea how to train anyone," Merkan said. "With only one blow I will be without sword or swordarm to use it for six weeks while my broken bones heal just from the attempt to block or hold on to my sword. I'd rather keep practicing, please."

Sām laughed and laughed at Daryun. Bekarys said dryly, "Which is why you wisely refused to let any of his blows touch your sword to begin with."

Merkan nodded very soberly. "Marzbān Daryun is very strong, and very fast, but he definitely doesn't know how to hold back, particularly when he feels like he's been challenged."

Sām finally came down to a chortle and said, "How easily he read you, Daryun, and in only the one first glint in your eye. It's why I keep you off my field, you know."

Daryun properly looked abashed. "My apologies, Merkan. When you're ready, I'll be happy to lose my position to you - which you _will_ have to challenge me to have."

"Of course, Father," Merkan answered firmly and bowed to him low. The whole field went silent in complete shock at the revelation of their relationship.


	20. Warrior Apprentice

Merkan's life after that was quite full. Not only did he have his own practices, he was assigned as a teacher on the field, "as a continuation of his lessons from before, but in a more realistic setting". He didn't complain. He did make the other instructors teach him what they knew, though, which surprised them at first.

Eventually, he learned how to get even the more reluctant instructors to teach him. They were his first hard lessons in how to get older heads who thought they were better than anyone younger than them to move. He knew he needed those lessons, though. He'd been watching Arslan trying for a long time.

He learned he was different and that people took his approaches differently than they did Arslan's. He'd sort of seen it in the Sacred Mountain, but there was different than this place where he had to earn his place. It was a lesson he was grateful to get and practice at the training ground. It was harder to receive even an ear of anyone of similar rankings outside the practice field. Those would be advanced lessons.

It also didn't take long at all to learn what his testing had done to him with the other boys. Daryun had waffled, being willing to take Merkan into his own chambers at the first. Merkan had finally shaken his head. "What usually happens here in this place?"

Daryun had sighed. "You get to go through the hazing in the barracks with the other boys."

Merkan had slumped. "Well, yes I thought so. I suppose if I don't I won't learn how to get along with my peers will I?" Both men had only looked at him silently. He'd pondered it a bit more, then said, "Let me stay with them, but when I've passed my next set of tests sufficiently to be promoted, as my reward invite me to live in your quarters with you. I'll surely be ready for more advanced lessons by then. That way they won't be offended, or have cause to spurn me so much."

Daryun had agreed, and Bekarys had silently approved. Bekarys had also warned him to see that any bruises or physical wounds were tended to immediately, but scolded him that wasn't the way to answer anything given to him unless it was as a last resort.

"I understand already, Sir Bekarys," Merkan had answered, "however, let me come to you and talk to you about what happened and what was said so you can advise me on what to do better the next time."

Merkan was surprised the first time he went to Bekarys after being bandaged, having refused to lift his own sword against the bullies who came at him refusing to listen to him. "Next time, hit them before they can see it coming. Leave them no swords in their hands, and when they reach for you with fists, rap them smartly on their knuckles, then threaten to break their noses next."

Merkan stared at him with an open mouth. "Aren't I the bully, then?"

Bekarys smiled, "Are you?"

"No," Merkan said, incensed.

"Of course not. They all know that. They all know if you've stopped there, you've been merciful. However, you've also said that you won't tolerate insubordination." Merkan was puzzled. "You're in training to be a Marzbān. A Marzbān is to be obeyed at all times by any warrior of lesser status. You need to set that expectation in their minds now. It's part of learning to lead. When you stand as the person you are and will be, with firm disapproval, they'll learn it properly."

Bekarys paused and smiled again. "Besides, who in that field or in the medical center is going to believe them, that it wasn't their fault."

Merkan hesitated. "Those outside that field, who are complained to, will believe them. I need to not offend the adults, either, or I'll have that much more work to do when I move on in my lessons."

Bekarys rubbed his chin. "Perhaps. But with just that much, I don't think so. It's if you have to follow through and break noses, you might. Perhaps if you learn quickly who have fathers to not offend, those you can just shove their faces into the ground as you dodge their second attack when they ignore your warning?"

Merkan pondered on that, then gave a nod. He also gave Bekarys the names of the boys who'd bullied him and instructions: "Learn who their parents are and tell me who should be treated carefully." Bekarys went rueful that he'd given himself an assignment, but he accepted it humbly. He was the adult who could go where the adults went, after all, and ask the adults questions without getting odd looks or getting into trouble.

Within three days after that information came back, Merkan had the bullies settled, and more questions on that front. They would have to wait. The person with the answers could only come to him for now.

As far as the other students went, he was rather delighted to learn that the boy who'd volunteered to take the place of the prideful noble's son was also a son of a Marzbān. His name was Candon. He came as soon as there was opportunity to thank Merkan for the two-on-one practice, happy to have had the new experience to learn more. He hadn't been shy to voice a shared distaste for the pride of the boy who'd been taught a new lesson by Merkan as well.

Candon was the one who walked Merkan to all the places boys their status and age could go, and introduced him to all the people who he could talk to, and charm extra snacks from. Merkan had to carefully spend some time away from Candon those early days, though. The other younger boys were afraid to approach him when Candon was with him, and they were closer to Merkan's age.

Most of those who he'd worked with came and thanked him. He was polite, and thanked them again for being put on the spot in front of two Marzbāns so he could properly be tested. He wasn't surprised when a few asked him to continue to help them. He had to learn that the one who he was afraid would hate him was actually asking for more help when he said things sharply and couched in terms that asked for but refused help at the same time.

Things were difficult between them until someone pointed out that completely confusing difference in communication. Merkan had to scold that boy soundly and teach him how to approach Merkan properly and more directly. It still was a lot of work until they found a balance, but he became a firm supporter after that, for all he never did learn how to communicate what he really wanted or felt.

After a bit more specific testing later that first day by the instructor over the top level boys, Merkan was placed at the level just below the best. It wasn't because he didn't know things. It was because his own strength was still disadvantaged by his size. He would have to grow a little more in height in order to properly face the top level boys. That meant he wasn't in the same grouping as Candon.

However, Candon and a few others in that group came to him frequently after the regular practice time was over to receive further lessons from Merkan. Since those were the lessons Merkan had only seen and considered in his head, he had to do a lot of fancy head-work to keep in front of those boys. Finally he gave up, saying he'd reached his current maximum level and made them teach him what they'd been learning that he didn't know yet. That made for less stress on his end and he could relax a little more.

When that was exhausted, they ganged up on the new instructor that had been brought in for the noble's son and made him teach them all after hours. That kept that instructor and the noble's son on their toes for some time.


	21. Noble Apprentice

Daryun finally came again to observe what Merkan had been learning. After the sparing test, Merkan asked for his time. Daryun walked with him to a quiet area.

"Who are your enemies in the court?" Merkan asked him. "I need to know. Some of their sons are here. I've done my best, but I need to know if those who are stubbornly against me are choosing it on their own, or if it's being passed down from their fathers."

Daryun gave him a sharp look, but agreed he might need to know that. "Of course, it's really everyone. I've got a lot of admirers, but as a close advisor to the King, not many like me or trust me. They covet that position, but he'll not have anyone he doesn't trust in that grouping.

"Court positioning is pointless under King Arslan, but they still can't get it through their heads. They somehow believe that as he'll get older, he'll change to become a weak and idiot king like most do. It's a waste of their time, but he'll teach them eventually."

Merkan could understand that. "Then tell me based on the names I give you," he requested, although he hadn't really wanted to name them all, as if in complaint to his parent because he couldn't do it himself. The point was that he was going to. He just needed to know something only this person could tell him.

He wasn't too surprised at the answer, and was glad at least some had chosen to hate him on their own. He might be able to learn how to make them at least neutral in the court game. All of them he would have to learn how to manipulate, though. That was going to be delicate work.

He'd had another question occur to him as he'd thought hard about this particular issue and he could ask that one next. "Do you live in the noble's quarters, or closer to the King?"

Daryun almost glared at him. "The King is who I protect. Why would I want to be where the ninnys are?"

Merkan rolled his eyes. "If you call them that openly, it's no wonder they don't like you," he scolded.

Daryun's eyes went wide and he snorted, but didn't answer. Merkan moved on. "Then, when I pass my first testing, instead of taking me into your quarters, let me move up to be in the quarters of the noble sons who are learning statescraft. That's what I want to study next anyway. I need to be where I can learn that part of their life in order to understand how to get them to move even when they don't want to."

"Why?" It was a testing question. Merkan approved.

"Because if I'm to take your place beside the King, I need to understand how to make men of all kinds move and obey him. And I need to be able to give him wise advice." He folded his arms and shifted to put his weight on one foot. "Mother said I was to not only learn from you, but from Strategist Narsus as well, so when he's gone his wisdom isn't."

Daryun shivered just slightly. "That's a lot to take on, when I'm sure King Arslan will keep Elam next to him that long."

Merkan shook his head. "Elam can't approach the nobles. He's never had noble blood and they won't even talk to him. Narsus is in that place right now, if as distrusted as you are, and he has no heir."

Daryun stared at him, then muttered, "As long as you don't learn to paint from him."

Merkan's eyes went wide. "Why would I bother? I'm already going to be too busy."

"Make sure you tell him that, then," Daryun scowled until Merkan agreed. He'd have to learn eventually why that was a bone they fought over all the time.

Merkan got more than he bargained for. When he was moved up less than a year later, he was moved into Narsus' quarters. That was almost closer than he could bear to be with the Strategist. His poor eyes hated him every time Narsus asked him to praise a painting.

He eventually learned, from learning about himself and how people reacted to him, that he could pretend he didn't see anything. "What painting?" he would ask as he looked directly at it, then he would look at Narsus as if the man was insane for saying anything existed in that space, then turn and walk away. It made Narsus slump in silent defeat, but he didn't throw Merkan out of his apartments.

When Narsus would get too excited with his lessons, Merkan could say, "What nonsense is that coming out of your mouth now? Go back and rethink that while I try to decide if it was worth saying the first time. Then we'll come back and discuss it." Narsus would stop in surprise, then go into deep thought.

Deep enough Merkan could escape to go hit his friends' sticks for a while until his brain could finally distill out what Narsus had been trying to say from all the words that had been so unnecessary. Then he would go back and make Narsus say it succinctly enough to prove he'd understood or not. Eventually Narsus learned to be a better teacher, but if he got excited it was still often difficult.

Merkan was back into heavy book learning then, too, as he'd rather thought he would be. He'd had the basic lessons at home in the temple, and knew more than most on many history details, but he had a long way to go to understand all the detailed laws and regulations. If he wasn't tired of listening to Narsus, he would debate with the other lord's sons in the library, both to learn his lessons on governance, and to learn who they were and how to manipulate them.

His first lesson in being manipulated was after it had already been happening for a while. He was quite chagrined to learn that the person he'd been relying on the most had been using that excuse to become stuck to his side for ulterior motives Merkan wasn't pleased with. He'd forgotten his own lesson the first time with Candon frightening off the other junior weapons students.

Merkan had to more forcefully distance himself from that older boy and work hard to invite the other junior noble sons into his outer circle. It took a while to repair and he'd made a hidden enemy by the end of it. He couldn't be surprised, but he was sad about it. It was a mistake he did his best to return from and remember to not repeat.

It also reminded him of the Goddess' warning of who he should be listening to, because they could enter his ears and he'd not understand until too late. He became generally more cool after that, although still interested in others as necessary.

Six months into his study, Merkan heard some harsh words directed at him. From no less than Candon. "Are you become more noble than we, then?" he was accused.

Merkan's head came up from his reading and he stared in surprise at Candon. His friends had actually come to find him in the depths of the library. "Don't you know that Marzbāns must work with the nobility as well in order to properly serve the King in their places? Doesn't your father have to negotiate wisely or be toppled in the court? Aren't you also preparing?"

Candon stared back, also in some surprise. "Why do we care, again?"

"You're not willing to support the King?" Merkan asked.

"What's that have to do with it?" Candon scowled.

"The King has to dance the court dance as the most delicate one of all. We support him as his arm, but if he had to send us into every town and village to keep the peace or the nobles would revolt, what good is that King, and what good are we to keeping the peace that everyone needs to live?

"We can do so much more if we can help him keep the peace while everyone is here in the court having their complaints heard and properly understood. Discontent will never leave the walls of the palace, to disturb the country," Merkan explained.

"You don't want to fight for the glory of Pars, like your father did?" Candon asked. The other young fighters in their group nodded their agreement, still not understanding.

"If I'm called upon to keep it safe from invaders, yes," Merkan answered. "But I never want to be sent against our own people to put down a revolt or insurrection. That would be a very sad day, indeed, for a man of Pars to have to lift a sword against another one again. King Arslan and the heroes who helped him worked very hard to put an end to that. That is what I want to support."

It took him a lot of effort, teaching them what he was learning and why it was important before they finally relented and left him alone. They'd listen if he brought something important to them, but they still had no interest in understanding the nobles to the extent the King needed to understand them.

Merkan could only sigh sadly and work hard to keep at the balance point so that the future Marzbāns would listen to him the same as he hoped to have the nobles listen to him. He would at least be able to help King Arlsan know what both sides were saying outside of the court room.


	22. A Child of the Street

Emin was allowed to stay in the manor of his father's lord, but he wasn't allowed to live in his father's quarters, by declaration of Jaswant's wife. Jaswant managed to get her to calm down about the "rumor" of him having a son by another woman before he met his wife. She was willing to believe eventually that Neylan had randomly chosen Jaswant as her target to getting her son fed in a noble's house, but she wouldn't have Emin close enough she had to see him every day to be reminded.

Jaswant sadly said it really was for the better, once he understood just what sort of a child he'd been handed. Emin was quickly immersed in not only the life of the manor, but also the city where it was located. He did all his assigned tasks in the manor quickly and rather well, once he understood how to do them. On the streets, he was fast and learned to hide very well.

He strictly focused on information, staying far away from items as his trade. Particularly as a child Emin could be very innocent and blameless when others wanted to know who'd sold the information. He was still only six. Not many people believed he knew anything, and then even fewer believed he'd have sold it to anyone.

Jaswant's contacts learned very fast Emin was honest, and very good. They rose in their own ranks rather fast, until they had to calm down and move more slowly. Emin learned then that pacing was important, that the one whose neck grew too fast had their heads cut off because they shone out from the rest. No one died then, since they did know how to protect themselves, but they stopped buying information from him cold for a while.

He stopped saying anything during that time, but kept listening. He learned that if he went with particular pieces of information to his father (without asking for pay), Jaswant's eyes shone with pride. Jaswant made him prove his words, though, teaching him how to gain that proof without getting caught, and before he talked about it. That was another lesson. What the underworld wanted was a very different thing than the nobles did. And the King even more.

Jaswant was careful to teach Emin exactly what a King would need in order to bring down a noble. He explained how difficult it was for a King to move quickly and why. It was similar to being noticed in the underworld for making too many moves too fast, but far more tricky.

About the time he was seven and a little more, Emin became a paige, a runner of messages between noble houses. Onur ran with him, as always, and taught Emin how to open a message, read it, and close it up again as if it had never been touched, and to memorize without errors. Eventually he learned to copy letters exactly - that is, forgery - so that he could hand his father proper proof of things that needed to be understood.

"We'll be more suspected, since we ran the message," Onur explained. "Thus, we don't tell anyone right away. Sometimes the information is very time critical, but then is when you pick the right person to tell, that won't act rashly or unwisely, and will say it in a way to not incriminate you. They understand your value and will protect you properly." Emin asked for the lessons to tell who was which kind then.

By then Emin's tasks at the manor had been many and varied. He eventually chose the quiet work of duster of things inside the house, and the more strengthening work of cleaner of stable stalls. He could hear whispers while he dusted, from ladies in particular, and he could hear men with loose tongues in the stables. For some reason, men felt they weren't being heard while they walked from leaving their horses behind and were on the way into the house. Once they were in the house, they closed their mouths just fine.

Jaswant and Omer both made sure he kept up with his sword practices. Jaswant was as stern a weaponsmaster as Bekarys had been. It made Emin sad the first little while, but Omer held him after the practices and let him talk about the times in the temple until he could relax and say a prayer for his brother's sake.

Emin always made careful sure to say a prayer to the Goddess upon first waking, and before falling asleep each night. He also paused before moving on any delicate operation to listen closely and whisper, "Are you there, Mother? Please watch over me and keep me safe. I'm still trying hard."

He would listen and listen, wanting to hear if she was going to warn him that danger was around the corner. When he didn't hear anything, and he felt safe enough, then he would move. It saved him in the beginning of his fourth year. "It's a trap," he heard, just at the edge of his hearing.

He froze, then crouched down, pretending to check his sandal strap. That was their code. Omer strolled up and asked if he could be of help. Very quietly Emin said, "Go first, but only look, don't stop. I'll meet you on the other side by a different way. Run if you need to and I'll meet you at home." He would create a diversion to protect Omer if he had to.

Omer raised an eyebrow, but gave a nod and moved on. Emin made sure his sandal really would stay on his foot, then stood up and suddenly darted off the other direction. He evaded hands until he was where he could see the other exit of the alley. Omer was already running out from it. He scanned quickly, didn't see Emin, and kept going. Emin stayed in his hiding place until he was sure who was targeting Omer.

It was a fast lesson in how to get the protectors of the peace to entangle the men he wanted to delay, and then in creating another diversion in an upset donkey farther on. He moved on very fast after that, not wanting to make a chain they could follow to know where he was. Two was a coincidence. Three was someone trying to hide. Four was stupid.

Back at the manor, he hunted until he found Omer looking for him. They on the spot agreed on a meeting place for when that happened again. Emin explained what had happened and Omer told him what he'd seen, naming the person who'd set the trap.

They took that information to Jaswant as soon as they could talk to him privately. Jaswant's face went to worry. "Stay in the manor for the next two months, at least. I think they may have been hoping to catch the information broker, but not have known it was you. I'll set out a few others to be possibilities and see if one is willing to be caught to be the smokescreen. If he's refused, they know it's you and that's very bad."

Emin swallowed and had to agree. He made Jaswant tell him right then what he should do if he was ever caught in a trap like that. The options were rather grim, actually, in this kind of career. Emin decided that he needed to work just as hard at not getting caught ever as he worked at not dying by sword ever. They had the same end result in most cases.


	23. Working a Capital City

Emin and Omar didn't work the city anymore after that. Instead, when the noble was required at the capital city for the yearly full court, the boys went with him and Jaswant as the noble's paiges. While they were there, Jaswant got them jobs as castle paiges, placed to run messages within the castle, but also out to the city and back.

He'd pulled strings, of course. He was a highly prized spy, well protected, and for him to have two apprentices made greedy eyes shine. (King Rajendra was still that kind of guy, for all Jaswant refused to work for him directly.)

Jaswant took the boys into town and taught them where the most important places were, not having time to teach them everything about the whole very large city. They'd have to learn more on their own. They were introduced to one contact that Jaswant sort of trusted. That contact was severely threatened if either boy was harmed, and he openly told them that they should never trust anyone in that city, although it was fine to pretend they did, since everyone else did.

He then gave them a very strict and stern charge, for all it contradicted what he'd told them before. "You will _not_ collect any firm proof yourselves. Learn it, then sell it properly, but let others do the work of finding the proof for sure. That's part of the King's network's job, and will keep you protected, which is your job," he said very firmly. "The first step is the one they find hardest - just who to start looking at. It will be a hard lesson, but I think you can do it already."

He turned to Omer. "Learn to charm all the types of people that exist until they want to tell you everything, then teach that to Emin. He has the soft eyes and childishness for that to work all the way into adulthood if he learns it well now.

"Start by having him learn to sweet talk the baking ladies out of bread crusts. Work him up to being able to win warm rolls out of the oven. When you can do that, you're ready to try to learn to sweet talk information out of people. You'll be beat the first few times when they learn what you wanted, but that will teach you, too, faster even."

Emin grimaced, not wanting to have that happen at all. He'd learn without the beatings if at all possible. Then he frowned. "Wait. You won't be here?"

Jaswant shook his head. "I'll be going back with the master. You two will stay here. I'll meet with you again in a year. Use the contact for what you'd use me for. He does know how to teach the trade well. Just don't let him sell you."

Very quietly he warned, "And don't ever let anyone know you know how to forge. That you need to keep hidden all your life. You'll need that as an adult, but you'll only be able to use it if even the underworld doesn't know you know how. Those they know about get very good pay, and a very short life." Emin pursed his lips together and shook his head hard. He'd not go that path.

Jaswant paused, then said, "It will be most difficult for you to learn what things to avoid instead of learn. Some things are far too dangerous to know anything about. For the first while, always go to the contact and whisper in his ear what you're thinking of learning about. Because I've made him promise to protect you, he'll tell you honestly what to stay away from. Pay attention to what they are and what kinds of people would know the information. Eventually you'll learn how to learn it without death as the result, but even I have refused, and do refuse on occasion."

They learned a lot that year and into the next. Emin was finally getting old enough that he was a more common suspect now, being of the age of many of the street boys. That didn't help him with the contact, either, who looked at him more and more suspiciously each visit after a while.

Emin finally found one of the women that hung around the contact's base of operations that would answer him one question. "Why does he hate me now, when he didn't before?" he asked her, very sad and innocently.

She leaned over and whispered to him, "You're acting like a Prince of the street - one who's set on becoming a King over the other underlords. You're becoming competition to him and he's unwilling to have you learn anything that you can use against him."

Emin went pale. "That happens?" he asked in complete surprise.

"Not often," she shrugged. "Usually they're taken out early so they can't."

"Oh," Emin said weakly. "Well, I had no idea, actually. I'm not interested at all." At least, he wasn't interested in _that_ kingdom and city. He walked out of that place and didn't go back. He didn't do any more than run his paige job after that and refused to let Omer either. He chewed on that bit of information for a long time, trying to work out what he could still learn and what he still needed to know.

He stayed off the street so long, that eventually a rumor came to him. He ran to Omer fast when he heard it. "Omer," he said desperately, tugging on his sleeve. Omer quickly took him to a hidden place nearby in the castle. "I just heard that someone is going to go after Jaswant directly."

Omer grabbed Emin's shoulders and held him down tightly. "Close your ears to it, immediately," Omer was actually angry with him. Emin froze not knowing how to react to that. "They're trying to call you back into the street, to see if you can be caught with a lie that will do that to you - make you react emotionally and make stupid mistakes. If you go, I will die because I'll have to rescue you, then you'll be left to walk back to the manor on your own to apologize for failing your duty completely."

Emin had a lot of troubles wrapping his brain around that at first. When he finally calmed down, Omer sat down on the ground and pulled Emin to sit with him, close enough he could still hold on to Emin. He was thinking hard. Very quietly he said, "It will be too long before the full Court is called again, but we can't stay here. We need to leave town without anyone knowing we have. If they've sent someone inside to call us out, they'll move against us inside next."

He stopped talking, then said with a little less regard. "It is concerning, Emin. I'm sure you wouldn't want your foster father to come to harm. Let me think about what can be done. We can certainly start with sending him a letter to let him know, ...if it would get to him." He sighed and put his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee.

Emin's eyes were already scanning the place outside their hiding place. He finally found where the information broker was hiding and he knew his face had gone dark. To hide the reason why, he said, also a little without regard, but not too much, "But Emin, you know it won't. We don't have horses, and we barely have enough money for food, so we can't rent even a seat on a coach."

He went back to worried. "Would they send him a similar message, to make him come here out of concern for me?"

Omer's eyes went sharply to Emin, but Emin was watching the other man. That one clenched his hand in slight triumph and Emin had to duck his head to hide his snarl of anger.

Omer shook his head. "It's too hard to think like that. If it were true, you'd both pass in the night, for not knowing, and then you would each think the other dead. That might not be hard for him, who can kill anyone he pleases, but for us, what can we do?"

Emin couldn't tell what reaction the man had to that, so he might not have had one. It had been merely a statement of fact, and confusion they wanted Emin to have. He properly sighed in frustration, however. "Give me three days to come up with a plan, please, Master Emin," Omer pleaded. "Don't do anything rash."

Emin shifted uneasily for a bit, then bit his lower lip and nodded agreement. They rose from their hiding place and walked back to their castle jobs.

Emin kept his eyes open very wide after that, and he found more than once that someone was watching him. He finished his work very quickly and joined Omer, and didn't leave his side after that for the rest of the day. Omer had been about to do the same, though, so they had free time on their hands suddenly.

Omer gazed at Emin for a bit, then whispered, "I know what to do."

Emin gave a faint nod. Carefully, they took the hidden ways that were safe enough until they reached the King's quarters. They surprised him, but he calmed down when he saw them. "Why do you want to kill your most trusted informant, Your Majesty?" Omer demanded to know, but very quietly.

"I don't?" Rajendra answered. He played confused very well.

"Have you recalled him to the castle for a reason then?" Omer asked, staying slightly defiant.

"I haven't?" Rajendra answered again.

"Is there a reason you want us dead, then?" Omer asked.

"Why bother?" Rajendra answered. Then his eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

"Secret and safe passage back to the manor. Tonight - as the decoy since they'll expect us to go tonight."

"Fine," Rajendra answered easily. "And when will you really go?" Omer only glared at him until he sighed. "Right. People like you don't trust anyone. I've got it." He pondered, then said, "Go collect two dresses. We'll send a carriage out with two dressed as girls and see what chooses to bite the bait."

Omer bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Rajendra waved a hand. "I wouldn't bother except I need him."

"Of course," Omer said and they disappeared to fetch the dresses. Omer took more than that, but they never told anyone. The two dresses ended up back in the King's quarters without anyone knowing either.


	24. Secrets

When the decoy carriage left Sindhura's capital city that evening, two boys with faces painted to look differently walked out of town from the same gate, slipping out unseen because eyes were watching the carriage. They walked until they found a farmer's wagon, with the farmer sleeping under it.

They stole a few pieces of food to keep going and kept going. They stayed off the road as much as possible and watched to stay far away from the ruckus that started up around the carriage. They would be searched for in the area, they were sure of it.

They kept going even long after they were sleeping while walking. Eventually, just as the dawn birds were starting to chirp sleepily, Omer found them a hidden place to sleep. They slept until afternoon, chased down food, ate it raw, and started walking again, hiding their tracks and any traces of where they'd slept and eaten.

Emin prayed in his heart and with a whisper, "Goddess, please watch over us and guide our feet. Mother, if my Father has left the manor to search for me, please let me know where and when to meet with him. It would be better if we could do that where no one would see us meet. And, please, let Omer stay alive long enough to finish teaching me what I need to know so I don't have to walk alone until it can't be helped."

He'd realized something in that whole episode. They knew that Omer walked with him. Some day someone would learn that if they captured Emin, Omer would come rescue him. But worse was that if they caught Omer and removed him, Emin would be easy to take and get rid of. He needed to learn how to protect Omer, or he would lose. He worked on ideas that day and into the next as they continued to walk.

"We'll lose our terrain coverage soon," Omer worried when they stopped that night. "Soon what little green life lives in this desert will give out to full desert. We'll lose what little water there is as well." Emin gave a nod. He knew it. He prayed again before he fell asleep, asking that they be able to meet with Jaswant before that happened.

He was woken only a few hours later, feeling a push to go towards the road, for all it was a distance off. He left Omer there, sleeping, and hid as he went that way, careful to not move the branches of bushes much at all. He'd not had to hide out in the woods of the Sacred Mountain before, but he had learned them, and with both of his sets of lessons, he knew what he should probably do out in the scrub brush of Sindhura.

Emin slowed down as he reached a thicker part of trees. He paused and listened very hard. He listened for noises in the trees, and he listened for his mother's voice. He heard the first, but not the second. When he felt calm, he carefully walked forward, searching the dimness under the trees until he found a form on the ground. Moving swiftly, he pulled his sword and had it to the neck of the person before they were fully aware he was there.

Eyes his own color turned to look up into his. "Why did you order them to kill Omer?" he asked in an angry whisper.

"I didn't?" Jaswant answered back. "You're alive?"

"No thanks to your test," he spat back.

"I didn't?" Jaswant answered again.

"If we can trust no person in the capital, that includes you." Emin refused to let tears blind him. His father could still overpower him.

"Tell me the story," Jaswant finally said calmly, for all the steel was cold on his neck and shoulder.

Emin did, most of it. He left out exactly when they'd left, and he left out that Omer was still living.

"Well, you did pass your test, then, if one was given. Except that you came to find me."

Emin shook his head. "You need to tell me where I'm going next, and pay me enough coin to get there. Or I'll take your head to the contact who failed in his promise to you, take his head, and then take both of them to the traitorous King."

"Traitorous King? He helped you escape!" Jaswant said in surprise.

"Hoh, he did, did he? Even after receiving the report that I was doing well enough to make the whole city's underworld believe I was set on becoming the next king of all of it? I don't think so. He already has a complex from taking the city and nation for himself from his brother. And you never taught me that from the beginning, before leaving us there, so I think you're quite complicit."

Jaswant chuckled softly. "Well, that would be because I didn't expect you to do that well this fast. Besides, isn't that a lesson already learned and forgotten? If your head stands taller than the others of your grade and age, what happens?"

Emin had to relent a little at that. "True. My questions were out of character for my character. I'm sorry for that." He scowled at Jaswant again, "And thus the other reason to come find you. How can I learn everything I need to learn if you're not there to answer those odd questions? I don't want anyone's city. I have something to do and I need to learn to do it."

Jaswant looked at him soberly, the spun out from under the sword too fast for Emin to do anything. He only sat up cross-legged, though, to inspect Emin a little longer. "Oh. Facepaint. I guess I'll give you points for that."

He put his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand as he thought. "So where is Omer?"

"As far as you and everyone else is concerned, he died," Emin scowled at him. "Having him is the same to me as knowing forgery."

Jaswant's eyebrow went up. "Well, you have learned something important then." He went back to silent pondering. "Your mother wants you to travel to all the nations around Pars, so that you can understand the politics of them all at this level, and so you can have contacts in all of them. I assume that means by the time you get back to Pars, you'll have learned things his court needs to know.

"However, I had hoped you would be drawn to love Sindhura, in understanding it better. You'll really move on and keep to your childhood goal?"

Emin stared at him in surprise. "I'd stay if I'm the favorite target? Not. I hate that much corruption. I can't wait to get home and have two days of ignorant bliss in a nation that claims to have peace for all citizens, and where at least the King is truly and blissfully that blinded so as to be honest when he faces a person."

Jaswant laughed. A long time. When he calmed down, he said, "Truly, if my eyes had been closed, I would have been listening to an adult. It's no wonder they got so worried. Is it your mother in you that does that?"

Emin raised an eyebrow. "Makes me jaded and complain bitterly? Yes. I can remember from the time I was about half a year old. She complained about all of you a lot back then."

Jaswant gave him an odd look. "What an odd family," he said finally. "And do you know who your oldest brother is, then?"

Emin returned the odd look. "Merkan?"

Jaswant shook his head. "The King himself."

Emin was in shock for a very long time. When he finally came out of it enough, Jaswant tipped his head to the side and asked, "So. Will you decide to kill him instead, and become King for him, when you have enough strength and knowledge of your own?"

Emin shook his head. "I just said it. I don't want it. I want to know how to support him, or I'd not even learn it at all. I'd be a wandering merchant who would play in the mountains and only sell things to eat."

Jaswant snorted softly. "Well, then, I'll hope you get to live long enough to retire to that. You don't look anything like him, so keep it quiet that you're related, like you are the other two things you're hiding now, and you might get to live that long.

"Go to the next country west of here. They're about to explode into just that kind of internal in-fighting between half-brothers and cousins, like we did before. Learn exactly why that's a really bad thing to have happen to a nation, to remind yourself just why you don't want it when you're old enough to think your brother's too stupid to keep his crown."

Jaswant pierced Emin with a sharp eye. "He isn't, by the way. It just looks that way." He paused, then said, "You mentioned another name. Is there another half-brother?"

Emin pursed his lips. Jaswant assumed there was. "When you do return, take the time to make sure he isn't moving in those same ways, even if he doesn't understand it himself. He may not understand that Arslan is the viper waiting to strike, all while looking like the harmless twig.

"My nation got off the first time because he needed to get back and focus on his own. When they fought the second time, we were trounced quite firmly. My king will not go against Pars again for a very long time," he whispered the last rather sadly, actually.

Emin was confused. "Wasn't that because of Marzbān Daryun and Strategist Narsus?"

Jaswant pursed his lips, then said, "When you've stood at the side of that king for long enough, you come back and tell me if you still believe that." Emin had to think about that one. For the moment, he only gave a nod.

Jaswant rose to his feet and added. "Consider yourself and your other brother, as well. Knowing the two of you as you do, what do you think your oldest brother, who has already lived as many years as the both of you together, can do when he has the blood from both sides?"

"Both sides?" Emin asked.

"His father was also of the royal line. You have the blood of the most excellent spy. Your brother the blood of another, but not of the line of the kings, I'm quite sure. And the king has the blessing of the Goddess to be the one to fulfill the prophecy. Walk carefully around the king when you're there in that place."

He tossed on the ground a pouch of coins that clattered together, then another one of water. "That way," he pointed to the west. "And if you get lost, I'm sure your mother will tell you which way to go."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out one more thing. "If you're desperate, you can try showing this to anyone in the underworld, but it might get you killed as fast as helped. Just because I know people doesn't mean they like me." He tossed a small disk on the ground.

Emin closed it into his hand without looking away from his father. "Thank you. When I'm old enough to not be recognized easily, I'll come back to hit you over the head and let you know how things went. If you get too old, come back to Pars. I'll see if either King Arslan or Mother will protect you long enough to allow you to die in peace."

Jaswant shook his head with a small smile on his lips. "They wouldn't, but Daryun might."

"Even if he's your rival?" Emin asked with a raised eyebrow.

Jaswant blinked at his son in surprise. It took him a long time, then he slumped and sighed. "I only agreed because I knew King Arslan would need someone like me there, and Daryun even more. The poor man never gets to relax or breathe. If he's the father of your other brother, that's fine. I know she likes him, and I was never interested."

Emin blinked. "Then I won't tell him, so he has to stay guessing. Otherwise he might kill you."

Jaswant snorted. "Maybe. And maybe he'd cry on my shoulder that I don't care. He cares too much, already wanting me to come back before now when I'm not trustworthy and he knows it."

Emin rose to his feet. "If you say so. I think the Goddess and my mother don't make mistakes. They're clueless a lot of the time - or Mother is anyway - but they don't make mistakes."

Jaswant went sober. "Well, no they wouldn't. But I'm not sure I can believe that about myself just yet."

Emin's lips curled up slightly. "Of course not. You're still a hired spy for _this_ King. No one in this place can be trusted, even yourself, or you'll end up dead."

"Indeed," Jaswant said dryly.

Emin disappeared before his father had to kill him or vice versa. He didn't talk to or approach Omer again until they knew Jaswant wasn't following them. That was about a day into the border of the next country over and Omer showed up to tell Emin that Jaswant had finally turned back home.

"Thank you, Omer," Emin said softly. "I hope it won't disturb you too much to only see me at times like this into the future."

Omer smiled gently. "Oh, I'll see you a lot more than that. It's you that won't see me except at times like this."

Emin smiled back. "Well, it will be good to know that there's still someone following at my back. I hope Father continues to keep his own bodyguard alive."

"Did he give himself away when you brought out your sword?" Omer asked.

"Yes," Emin said, "I moved faster than he thought, but then I'd already been hiding that, too, from long ago."

"And I'm proud of you for doing it," Omer agreed. Only he knew exactly how strong and fast Emin was.

Since it had been a while, they spent the day in sword practice. They rested there and made their way leisurely to the next capital city, making their plans for how to live in their new way in the cities of nations they would be foreigners in.

It was also nice to have lessons in living off the land again. Emin decided he liked that kind of peace, and he was able to talk to his mother more, too.


	25. Mother and Son Reunion

Nearly seven years after Merkan arrived in the capital city of Pars, Arslan went to visit Narsus in his quarters at a time Narsus had off from his duties, having an odd question at a random time, as he often did. Several things from early in his reign on the throne had finally taken root in the nation and he wanted to confirm that he'd seen the results right. The picture in his head of what was ahead needed solidification just a little more before he made his next moves in the court.

He painted that picture of the motions of the nation as it moved to his decrees and laws, like Narsus' painting went on the page - a bit abstractly and with sweeping motions long before the details were added. He just hoped his "painting" of the nation wasn't nearly as atrocious as Narsus' paintings.

On his way to his next thing to do, Arslan suddenly came up short, not far from Narsus' quarters. He was passing a small hallway that lead to a small inner garden. Daryun had been bringing his son to their slightly larger dinners of late, to get his face seen by the other Marzbāns. Often the other sons of the same had also been in attendance. They usually ate and joked together at those meals, once they were released from the more formal parts of them.

"Truly, Mother, you don't have to keep bringing me clothing. Father was quite put out you said it, but to do it is completely unnecessary. Please do let Cook know I appreciate the tastes of home, however."

Arslan's eyes went very wide at the female voice to speak next, "I made the promise didn't I, Merkan?" It was a pout, truly, but Arslan barely registered it. He was already running down the hall as fast as his feet could carry him. That was rather fast, these days, with his long stride now that he was full grown.

He had his arms wrapped around the woman in the white dress, her curly white hair hanging loose over her back, before either of the other two knew he was there. Her back was to his chest as he'd come up behind her, but he didn't care. He buried his face in her neck and shoulder, her smell making him relax in a way he hadn't for a very long time. It was the final clue he needed.

"Mother," he complained bitterly, almost with a whine, "how come you've never come to even tell me you're alive? I've missed you very much, you know. I tried so hard to get Queen Tahameny to show me the love I knew you had for me, and was so confused as to why she wouldn't. It wasn't until you were standing in front of me with my eyes that I understood properly that she wasn't the mother I'd been born to, for all you looked the same."

The Priestess went from stiff with surprise to relenting slightly. A light hand came to rest on his arm that was around her upper chest and her hair moved as she turned her head a little. "If the King of Pars should decide that one such as I am his mother, then who am I to say otherwise? However, for my son who is standing in front of me to hear such a thing when he believes he is my oldest son, perhaps even the King of Pars should explain himself?"

Arslan's heart stilled for just a moment and his head came up just enough to look over her shoulder into the very blue eyes of the teen in front of them. He knew that with his straight white hair that matched hers in color, and their matching blue eyes to match the teen's, it would be very obvious that he might not be joking or lying at all, even if the validity of the statement might be in question.

Standing up a little straighter but not letting his mother go now that he had her again for even a brief moment, he faced the heir to the Marzbān. He'd not known Merkan was a literal son of this woman either. That changed a lot of things. Merkan's look wasn't fully accusatory, nor angry - yet - but it was definitely challenging and demanded an answer.

"I was born under the mountain. By three I was sent to a village outside this city and raised by two of the people who served the Goddess." Arslan named them in case they'd gone back to the temple so the boy would know them. "When I was a few years older, the castle summoned for me to name me the heir to the throne. I've not seen Mother to understand that I needed to remember blue eyes, not violet ones, until she brought you here to the castle. Nor has she spoken to me in all that time until then. But I do remember her voice, her loving arms, and her scent."

"I was with you the whole time, however," Neylan said softly to Arslan, her hand on his arm holding him more tightly. "The Goddess dictates what the priestess may do, and I could do that much, and see that what little else I could do was done. I'm only glad there were other things I could do, for all I wished to carry you again."

Arslan shook his head. "I'm sure, but I also needed to learn my own strengths. I only wish –." He cut off, then whispered, "Come visit me more, too."

He looked down to the teen again, who had been in the process of folding up something to tuck back into a sack. His blue eyes were still searching the faces of the adults in front of him.

"You are rather remarkably like Mother," Merkan finally said, his expression going rather neutral for all he made himself relax. He returned to the task in his hands, to finish it, then rose to his feet, slinging the bag over his shoulder. With a more pleasantly neutral expression he said more lightly, "It looked like you also didn't expect her to declare me to you?"

Arslan went sober inside. He released his mother to stand up straight with his hands on her shoulders. "No, actually. I also didn't know I had a brother. I think I would like to get to know you better. Will you come with me?"

Merkan looked down as he considered briefly. "It's my birthday, the one day each year she comes to see me. Let me have my time with her, which is usually short anyway, then I will come." His eyes came up again. Arslan wasn't sure he would ever get used to that flash of brilliant color in Merkan's face. This would be a strong opponent. There wasn't need to antagonize him before even understanding him, though.

Arslan gave a brief nod. "I'll wait for you, then." He turned his mother around and looked into her face, really studying it for himself. The blue eyes looked back into his as fearlessly as his brother's had. "And will you begin to think of me fondly again also, perhaps also gifting me with a birthday visit, since you know when it is?"

Arslan was surprised when she actually slumped in defeat. "Truly the Goddess will scold me again," she complained. She sighed at his falling face and wrapped her arms around him to hold him, which was what he wanted to begin with. "Fine. I'll also come to greet you from now on, Arlsan. I think perhaps the Goddess has her own punishment in having me birth sons instead of a daughter, as is the proper order of things."

Merkan spurted a laugh and Arslan had to smile. He held her a little tighter, then let her go, to keep his promise to Merkan. The promise of a personal visit was sufficient.

Arslan walked the halls back to his own quarters, deciding to visit his personal garden on the way to continue thinking in a more outdoor place. He would learn what Merkan was learning about, what his stated goal was, and then he would keep him close by until Arslan learned what his actual goal was. To have two with the royal blood in the castle at the same time was always asking for trouble in one way or another.

If he was asked why, it would be because Daryun had asked to move to the next level of training his son. If nobility beyond that was questioned, Arslan could say it was because Merkan's mother also had the blood of the highest nobility, but the fact they were brothers would never be said outside the private chamber or Arslan would make Merkan publicly deny it.

If he wouldn't, he would receive banishment or death. Pars could not afford to have another war within the royal family like they'd just gone through. Not for many more generations to come.


	26. The Goddess Moves Mysteriously

Merkan glared at his mother. "You know, that's very politically dangerous for us to meet and be introduced that way. I think it was better off a secret. Did you know he would be coming by here just then?"

Neylan shook her head. "Of course not. I was watching you so I knew where to come to. You were here. Why was he in the wing?"

Merkan glanced down the now-empty hallway. "I'm living with Narsus now, so perhaps he'd come to visit him during Narsus' rest time?" He pondered his mother and what he'd just seen before Arslan had left.

Before letting Arslan leave, Neylan had remembered and said, "Oh, that's right. The Goddess has said she's preparing your wife for you. It's past time you had a proper Queen and an heir is needed soon."

Arslan had frozen slightly, his eyes going wide - as if he could be married only to his work and country like the Marzbāns. Kings were required to have heirs. Then he'd relaxed and given a small smile. "Étoile should be ready shortly to accept my proposal."

Merkan had been so shocked he'd not been able to hold his tongue. "A believer in Yaldabaoth can't be a royal of Pars!" He'd meant a lot more than had been conveyed, but the pair of glares he'd received had halted his tongue, freezing it in his mouth.

He hadn't really cared about Arslan's glare, although he'd definitely make his older brother explain himself eventually if that really came about. It was his mother's glare that stunned him. His very first reaction was to be incensed that she would side with Arslan. He'd gone pale as he'd had his memory stirred just enough to recognize when he'd last seen that particular glare.

That was the glare of the angry Goddess, not his mother, nor even the priestess. Merkan had overstepped the bounds of the plans of the Goddess with that comment. He'd held up a hand and weakly asked for forgiveness. Arslan had accepted the apology, assuming it directed towards him, but it hadn't been.

Merkan had forcibly remembered that the Goddess directed this king's path. It didn't matter what Merkan thought, and it barely mattered what Arslan thought. Arslan would marry the Queen the Goddess gave him, whomever that was. Merkan wasn't to be involved, nor get in the way of Her plans, or he would be removed.

Thus why it was even more than he could understand why today of all days they'd been introduced as brothers. "Was it the hand of the Goddess, then?" he asked his mother now.

She paused in thought in the way she did when listening to the wisdom of the Goddess. "Probably," she finally said. "Particularly if it was an unusual event generally. Her words to him are so much his own thoughts to him that he never knows which is which."

Merkan slumped. He'd been rather afraid of that. It would end up best if he just assumed that the Goddess was inside Arlsan more than even in his own mother and was just obedient without question, then. It wasn't in his nature to, so he probably would have to be convinced by both Arslan and the Goddess all the time. Perhaps that was his next lessons, to be so suddenly called up. Lessons in how Arslan convinced everyone that the Goddess' plan was the right one, and in bowing his own head to them.

That connected to the other thing and he put his hand to his head and sighed. It was an important movement on the board to bring the Queen to the castle. If that had been Merkan's initial reaction with only that much, then he most definitely would side with the reasoning of men over the wisdom of the Goddess, and thus ruin her plans, or remove himself with a grave unintentional error.

He gave a small prayer of gratitude, then asked for enough patience and humility to pause and take the time to understand before passing judgement. He would definitely need to emulate his teachers for the next little while.

Because Merkan had slumped so much in his dejection, his mother's arms came around him warmly, almost surprising him since he'd almost forgotten she was there. He gave in quickly and just rested there, leaning his head on her shoulder. He hadn't relaxed much at all for many years, he realized. "Perhaps I'll request a few days vacation," his voice said. His ears and heart agreed. "...For all it will have to come after my next test this afternoon. The tests in this place are so brutal, Mother," he whined.

Neylan patted his head. "Thus it is at the top of nations, where the shoulders must carry the greatest burdens. I'm very proud of you. You're working so hard and diligently. Do rest as soon as you can, so you can continue forward properly."

Merkan wondered if he was old enough to have a courtesan as his entertainment and relaxation, then decided he probably didn't want that just yet. It would be too much effort, but he didn't want to just drink. "Go fishing," his mother suggested with a whisper.

Merkan blinked. "I've never done that before in my life, Mother. Why would I do that?"

"Oh, well, because it's a lazy activity? How is your horseback riding skill coming?"

Merkan's head snapped up to look her in the face, his eyes very wide. "My _what?_ " He nearly cried right then and there. He'd completely forgotten that the Marzbāns were _cavalry_ generals. _How could he have done that!?_ Then he frowned. "Why hasn't Father already made that part of my lessons?" That was very confusing.

Neylan shook her head. "Perhaps with the King in the castle all the time now, even he's forgotten he knows how to ride?" Merkan didn't believe that for a minute, but the first part made complete sense. Daryun still didn't go anywhere the King wasn't. "Maybe you should make him take that vacation with you?" she added.

"I think I _will_ guilt him into it," Merkan agreed immediately. Then he had to wonder why Bekarys hadn't done it either, other than very early in his education, before he'd started going to the Goddess directly for lessons.

He had to slump a little inside again as Candon's scold returned to his memory. Surely his friends had come to complain because Merkan had been studying law instead of practicing the horse maneuvers on the field like a proper Marzbān heir should have been. He'd been so passionate they'd not remembered to tell him _why_ they'd come. Was that also the Goddess' hand, or his own blindness? He could only sigh at himself.


	27. Oldest Brother Tests the Middle Brother

Merkan's walk to the king's quarters wasn't a pleasant one. About like the walk to the weapons practice grounds the first day he was in the castle, actually. He asked the guard at the door of the council chamber if Arslan was present. He was told he was expected. With a sigh, he gave a nod and was announced to the room. There was definitely no running from this one.

He squared his shoulders, but didn't go to prideful, only to confidence, as hard as that was to hold even now. His eyes took in the advisors in the room as he walked to the place Daryun had stopped at on that first day. He bowed. "You summoned me, Your Majesty?" he asked politely.

"I did," Arslan answered calmly. "I would like you to tell me what you've chosen to study here in the castle during the time you've been here." Well, that was something that all of these advisors would need to know, so Merkan stood firmly and summarized all of his years until that time.

Given that it was probably an appropriate thing to add in with that particular topic, and assuming that Arslan wanted to know what Merkan expected to move to next, he followed up the summary with, "My Lady Mother has just reminded me today that Marzbāns are _cavalry_ generals. I had forgotten, nor been reminded," he put a side-glancing glare on his father, sitting as usual to Arslan's right.

"I'm afraid in my zeal to learn those things I've been studying, I've completely neglected to learn how to fight from horseback." He wasn't apologetic at all and he turned a full glare on his father. "My next task is to find the man who is _supposed_ to have been teaching me that, and take a two week to one month vacation with him outside the city to focus on only that."

There was stunned silence in the room, then a few hidden laughs as the blood completely drained from Daryun's face. He bowed his head. "My apologies," he said, still rather horrified himself. He turned to Arslan. "We'll go as soon as you see fit to send us."

Arslan sighed at Daryun. "And what do you plan on doing after that, Merkan?" he asked, rather immediately returning to his own interests.

Merkan bowed slightly. "Whatever Your Majesty requires." His next goal was sitting in this room. Merkan expected Arslan was already wanting that now himself. He'd want a potential rival to be very close, trusted or not.

"What was your goal in coming here to the castle, Merkan?" Arslan asked next.

"The same as you heard explained that first day, Your Majesty. From my conception it has been my goal and destiny to sit in Marzbān Daryun's place when he becomes too old to protect and advise you. However, it is also my charge to take the place of both your right and your left hands, for there is also no heir for Strategist Narsus."

People sat up straight at that declaration, including Narsus. None sat up more than Arslan, though. He'd not thought that far? "Is that why you've been studying with the nobility, then?" Arslan asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Merkan answered.

Narsus had gone into thoughtful mode. Now he asked a question. "It isn't enough to only understand the nobles, to take my place. The whole of Pars must be understood, and the pulse of all nations."

"True," Merkan answered. He paused to listen to the Goddess and was prodded. He sighed, but agreed more warning ahead of time would be good for this group. "No man can do everything. Those were my charges and are more than enough for any one man to carry. The other burden is carried by another who will come when he's ready."

Arslan went a little confused. Narsus went cunning, however. "And whose son is he?"

"Jaswant's," Merkan answered flatly. He got three pairs of very wide eyes from those at the front of the room. Daryun went very slowly through several colors and expressions.

"And he went into training the same time you did?" Narsus asked.

"Yes."

Daryun swallowed. "And he was the three-year-old you learned to teach weapons to?"

"Yes."

"How is it he won't come here as the killing assassin?" Elam asked angrily.

"Because he was raised by the Goddess, as I was," Merkan said blandly. "She is one to be revered and feared. This is her land she blesses. If either of us should fall to our human natures and the wiles of man, we will be removed quite forcefully, for all it will leave gaping holes to the side and back of King Arslan in his old age."

Arslan waved his hand at Elam. "I trust Jaswant."

Merkan nodded. "As does the Goddess. I can't say I do, but that's because he doesn't trust himself, even still." Elam frowned at him.

Merkan turned his blue eyes on the servant and stared at him with the look that the Goddess had given him. Elam's eyes were caught. He slowly closed his mouth on his unspoken protest and swallowed. "You followed at the Blessed King's back, Elam. How can you still be of little faith that the Goddess guarded his path and his footsteps, even using you to do it for her with all these others?"

"You are very devout," it was smirked at him by the most irreverent of Arslan's advisors. The testing had moved to the room as a whole, but that wasn't unexpected.

Merkan shook his head. "No. I am honest, to a fault. I've inherited irreverence quite nicely on all sides, actually." He stood quietly and waited to see if there would be more questions.

"You're also being very blunt," was pointed out by another advisor.

Merkan smiled slowly. "Well, there are two reasons for that. The first is that in this room no one is false to themselves, thus to be any differently has no point. The second reason is because I grew up with all of you. To me you are already my teachers and friends, for all this is the first time for most of you to talk to me.

"I spent the final three years of my time at the Temple studying everything you had all done and everything you were doing at that time, to understand the natures of men so I could come prepared to learn from them and lead them. Having learned that much there, I've been practicing being everything _but_ blunt the whole time I've been here."

Merkan gave a long suffering sigh. "It's been quite exhausting, really. Thus the other reason for the request for the vacation. I very much need to recover before being pressed on even harder by the King as he turns me to my next lessons." He got a few rolled eyes, a few sympathetic nods, and a few suspicious looks - most notably from the king himself, for all he kept it faint in his usual innocent look, limiting it to slightly narrowed eyes.

Merkan looked him in the eyes until just before Arslan was uncomfortable, then bowed. "At your timing, of course." It was going to be difficult to not become Arslan's rival when his brother kept expecting him to become it. He might have to have a private heart-to-heart before too long just to set things as straight as possible.

He had that taken out of his hands. Narsus turned to Arslan. "I think perhaps we should have a private meeting, just Daryun, you, myself, and Merkan?"

"If you think so," Arslan agreed easily in his languid way. Those excluded from that list rose and walked out without any further thing said in the room. His advisors already worked that smoothly together from long before. Merkan wished he could be allowed to sit, because he really was very tired now that he'd finally realized it with his mother.

Narsus was looking at him with a very piercing look. He finally said, "You've discovered it. When?"

"You already knew?" Merkan asked in surprise. He got a small nod and continued to answer the question. "Just today. When King Arslan left your quarters, he passed the garden Mother had come to greet me in and discovered us. He told her he knew she was his mother just from the first time and scolded her. It was my first time to hear it. Because he'd said it in my hearing, she scolded him and he learned for the first time for himself as well."

Narsus slumped with a resigned and dejected sigh. Daryun was also a little troubled. "I also found it discouraging," Merkan agreed. "It would have been much better for it to have remained a secret from us both." He sighed and shifted. "Mother and I could only agree that the Goddess had decided it, since that's how She works with King Arslan. Only She knows why, though."

Merkan looked back to Arslan. "I don't wish to be your rival, but because you're concerned about it, you are going to push me there. It's hard enough to carry the burdens I carry. If Jaswant's son were to love me more than you, he and I could both depose you, but neither of us want the throne, quite truly.

"To be strong enough to help you carry the nation, we have to become strong enough to carry it. It would be far better for the three of us to carry it together, without anyone knowing that we are all related in some way or other. I would much prefer everyone to believe that I am Daryun's son - which I am - and never know who and what my mother is."

Narsus was nodding his agreement. Daryun had gone to thoughtful now.

"Merkan, who do you care about? The people of Pars?"

Merkan blinked at his father's question and took a moment to think about that. "Well, if I back out of my intense lessons, it's King Arslan. It can get confusing when I'm in the middle of things.

"Honestly, for all I know the point is to keep the whole land peaceful, I don't often think much about the people specifically. I'm concerned about the nobles and the Marzbāns. Until now more particularly those of my age who will be those I'll be helping King Arslan face in my time. I know that they both are halves that keep the king in power, so must be dealt with carefully to be kept in balance as necessary evils, if you will, to help the king carry the more detailed burdens of a kingdom. I do know my next lessons will include learning to face those of your generation and older."

Daryun folded his arms and gave a satisfied nod. "That is the proper perspective for you to have. It is the King's job to care for the people."

Arslan blinked as if coming out of his fog. He looked puzzled, then turned to Narsus. Narsus gave a nod of agreement. "And you always have cared in that way, rightfully. If he isn't facing that way, he's not your rival, unless you decide to make a stupid decision, and then he rightfully is until you mend your own ways." Merkan happened to agree with that scold, but was too tired to have a fight today if Arslan disagreed.

Narsus turned his scold to Merkan next, though. "Because you have that understanding, even if you aren't known to be his brother, as soon as you sit in this room in your own right, they'll still come to you to see if they can put you in his place when they decide they don't like his policies, to see if you'll change them the way they want if they give it to you."

Merkan slumped. "I know. The Goddess has scolded me from the beginning to never forget it, and I'm learning how hard it is to remember. Still, I don't want it. I would rather go home and sleep for a month, and then just keep learning everything I want to learn from the Goddess Herself. That's easy lessons compared to actually doing."

Daryun and Narsus laughed. Arslan smiled a small wry smile, understanding that himself. Merkan looked at him thoughtfully. "I'm coming to wonder..., if I'm properly heard in this room and can properly understand in return, if it won't be easier. Right now I can't see everything that went into the decision, like I could from the temple. Now that I know new things, I'd like to see that again to see if that's right. I think it would be."

He received approval from the two hands for that thinking, but they didn't say anything. It wasn't theirs to give. His own face went to a scowl. "And there you go again, thinking I'm being sneaky. You can't be of both minds about it, brother. Either decide to give me the opportunity to show you that I can be trusted, or choose to keep me at the distance of a simple Marzbān, but don't bring me in here to tempt me to want to challenge you every time.

"You will never be able to trust me if you face me with distrust from the beginning. I am not Hilmes. I was born at a time to see the awful darkness that one brought to Pars and our mother. As I said, I would rather go and be a hermit than bring that back again."

"He is right, King Arslan," Narsus said softly. "You will make your own fears come true if you can't root that out and have the faith and patience to let him prove himself to you."

Arslan slumped and looked away. "It's hard to face forward with clear eyes in the matter when the past was so dark and difficult." He ran his hand into his hair and rubbed his head. "Alright. I want to try. I know I'm going to panic when I don't have you two at my side, even if I have learned my lessons, and I know how hard it is to be alone."

He thought some more, then sat up and took in a deep breath. "Go on that vacation. That will give me time to get it worked out and make my decision of what I can and can't do. I'm sure I'd far rather learn to love a brother than hate an enemy that hasn't even been made yet, if I could choose. Which I can't so simply as most, being what I am." Merkan could allow that much for sure. All kings should be wise in that way.

"Give me a few days to put things together before you go," Arslan requested of Daryun. Daryun bowed his head and Merkan was finally excused to go to his room.

He fell on his bed, exhausted. He might just sleep until Daryun came to fetch him. It was more than he wanted to even think about any more. He really wasn't too thrilled with this birthday "present" from the Goddess.


	28. Lusitanian Lord

Bertrand, Thayne of the holding of Hartmouth of Lusitania, stood outside the castle gate of the castle of Arslan, King of Pars. He'd been held out of the castle for long enough. His voice rose above the protests of the gate guard. "Your King has held my granddaughter hostage long enough! I demand an audience with him. To keep a lord of another land standing outside the gate like a commoner is the height of insult! Send a paige, I say!"

"Yes, sir," the gate guard said for the fourth time without moving to act on the request. Thus the reason for it being given as an order this time. "I'm sure if he had known you were coming, I would have received orders to let you in."

"I've sent multiple letters requesting that my granddaughter be released back home. It's been long enough since the war, surely negotiations could have been satisfactorily been met long ago, _if_ your young king had bothered to spend even the smallest amount of time on it!

"Every letter has been ignored, every envoy. I've come myself to see that he can't ignore me this time. Let me in, I say, and inform him I demand audience!" His blood pressure was going up too high again, so he tried to rein his anger back a little. He didn't need a coughing fit here in public. His manservant was already desperate for him to calm down to prevent one. It helped that he could lean on that man's desire, to act as if he wasn't personally backing down.

There was finally a stir back towards the castle, and a lad came running up. Bertrand thought he might be familiar. The gate guard stood slightly more to attention, looking like he might be relieved to be done with facing the angry Thayne down. That was progress.

Dark solemn eyes, a little wide with worry, looked Bertrand over. "I am Lord Bertrand, Thayne of Hartmouth of Lusitania, grandfather of Étoile. Let me in to speak with King Arslan over the matter of why he continues to hold my granddaughter hostage in his castle so long without even allowing me to seek redress in another manner."

The young man blinked, then bowed. "I'm sorry, Sir." He turned to the gate guard. "You may let him and his retainers in, and two guards." He turned back to Bertrand. "I'm sorry, that is all the King will allow. The remainder of your men will need to find lodgings in the city."

After a bit of huffing to show his displeasure, Bertrand accepted it. He knew he wouldn't be allowed to take in enough fighting men to steal his granddaughter back. It was actually a rather good concession he would be allowed to take in sufficient guards and men to protect his own person (to some degree).

Once he was in through the gate, he threw a glancing glare at the guard, but didn't make further fuss. He knew the guard was only doing his job, for all it was very irritating he'd had to go so far. He could feel his lungs already trying to tighten up and wanting to wheeze. He'd have to find the time to cough soon, but he would hold it in as long as possible.

Instead, Bertrand squared his shoulders and marched along behind the young man who'd been sent to let him in. It was proper that he was taken directly to an audience room, even though his lungs disagreed with him that it had been the best course.

The white-haired king of Pars was no longer a youth. He was now a young man, in the prime of his strength. He still looked unreliable, but he sat firmly upright on his throne. Bertrand recognized the same advisors next to him that he'd had before, too. The Black Knight was missing, but that was perhaps to the better. He made everyone just a little insecure, and Bertrand didn't need that feeling today.

Bertrand wanted to glare at Arslan, but he knew he would need to be at least somewhat diplomatic this day to get what he wanted. "You have kept my only heir in your castle for these many years without listening to any of my pleas or requests. I have offered multiple times to recompense you for your pains at my heir's hands in exchange for her return. Yet you have ignored me. I demand that Étoile be released to me. Tell me your terms so that I may know what I can do to return her to her rightful home."

Arslan stayed calm. "While I have no wish to cause you anger, she isn't yours since the war. Since I have outlawed slavery in Pars, she also cannot be bought. If I have chosen to keep her in my castle what is that to you?"

Bertrand drew in a breath. His anger that wanted to explode out of him turned his face red. "She is my heir. I require her now, so that she may learn her proper duties to the Thayne. I can't leave it alone. There is no one to replace her!"

"Isn't there?" Arslan asked quietly, a challenging look on his face. Bertrand held his position. He knew as well as they did that women didn't inherit. He still needed her, though, for more reasons than that, but he wasn't going to tell this upstart youngling those reasons.

There was running feet and Étoile was running up to Bertrand. "Grandfather!" She grabbed him in a hug, giving him a concerned look. "Why have you come?" she asked and turned to face Arslan, the question on her face. Bertrand was rather surprised. Her golden hair was curled and very long - a thing she'd forsaken in Hartmouth as she'd determined to become a knight.

At the same time, she was dressed in the clothing of a male of Pars. Given she'd outgrown her Lusitania military uniform quite some time ago by her height and womanly curves, it being clothing of Pars wasn't surprising. What was surprising was that in this castle she was still allowed to be what she wanted to be, had decided she was.

Still, Bertrand only took note of it and was only briefly surprised. He had a purpose to being here and he focused on it. "I have come to negotiate your release and take you home," he answered her question. "It has already been too long."

"But, why have you come yourself, then? You could have written to request?"

Bertrand scowled. "Every letter. Every envoy. Every request has been ignored."

"Or perhaps not received," Arslan gave an innocent, confused look.

Bertrand nearly exploded again, but only spluttering followed by coughing came out. He coughed so long, his lungs demanding it, that he was quite weak and sweating by the time his lungs released him. Étoile was very concerned, holding on to him and looking at him anxiously.

He looked into the widened eyes of Arslan, who understood with that much. "There isn't time any longer. Release my heir so there is one to lead and rule over my Thayne before I am gone." Étoile's concern was even worse, but Bertrand wasn't talking to her.

Still, Étoile turned to Arslan. "If Grandfather is now sick enough that I am needed so much he would travel in that state all the way here to see I came home, then release me. Let me go and fulfill the duty to which I am required! You've known from the beginning that is my charge."

Arslan sat silently, not looking at them, thinking. Finally his blue eyes came up and looked into Bertrand's eyes. "When I first met Étoile, it was to be taken hostage so that he could escape from the city after being taken in battle to become a slave. In my mercy, I begged our best archer to not kill him for touching my person as he fled on horseback. In that moment, Étoile became mine." Bertrand began to go cold.

"When I met Étoile the second time, I prevented my guard from attacking him, seeking only to understand why his determination was the contradiction that all men are equal, yet we were worthy of death, when we are also only men of the same sort.

"At our third meeting, she had been in our citadel as a spy. In my mercy, I allowed what was mine to go free yet again." Étoile was still now, going pale.

"When I met Étoile the fourth time, he arrived in my tent with sword in hand, ready to kill me. Yet I did not have my men kill him. Rather I allowed what was mine to go free yet again. And when we met again at the end of that battle, I refused my men from killing her and allowed her to go with the prisoners and wounded, to care for her countrymen and women, as was right for an uninjured captive soldier.

"Even here since that time I have remained merciful, but she is not your heir, nor has she been since she chose to enter Pars as a soldier of war and lost. She is mine, nor will I release her to you.

"Go home and choose your wisest knight to be your heir. Be content with knowing that your granddaughter lives because of the mercy of one who she would have killed without mercy had it been allowed. Perhaps by my example you both will understand the mercy of your God who teaches such lessons to his believers."

Bertrand searched for any answer he could give. He couldn't argue against the king. By rights he should have killed Étoile before now, and it was his right to claim her for keeping her alive. Finally, Bertrand begged, "Let me stay one night, to visit with Étoile as her grandfather. At the least let a grandfather nearing death and her only family have that one wish granted."

"Grandfather!" Étoile protested, but he shook his head at her and she held her tongue.

"I would be glad to grant that wish," Arslan said and motioned to people behind Bertrand. "Quarters will be prepared for you and your men. Please go with my servants and they will bring you food and wine. I will have Étoile sent for once you're in your quarters. She'll remain with me here while you eat."

Bertrand slumped a little, but he wasn't surprised. It was irritating that the king was going to be strict enough to not allow them to even attempt to take Étoile from the castle. Arslan might look unreliable, but he'd learned strength and some level of wisdom over his time from the wars until now.

"Thank you." Bertrand bowed, squeezed Étoile's hand, and took his men out of the audience hall. He could hear the impetuous strenuous voice of Étoile immediately begin to argue her case. She had never understood the proper place she stood in, had always believed she could only by her own strength make the world move to her will.

It seemed to Bertrand that perhaps Arslan had already learned how to control the wild child in a way she couldn't even see, for her to still be living and staying still in that place. It was hard, but deep down, he had to admit she would never have that anywhere else she would live, even in their family home. He sat for his meal with his brow furrowed, saying nothing, thinking thoughts he'd not thought before he'd understood what things were like in this place.

When he was settled in his sleeping quarters, his two guards on the door and his retainers in rooms of the apartments they'd been assigned to, there came a polite knock on the door. Étoile was admitted, followed by two guards of Pars. They stood on the wall to watch and hear what would be said. Betrand looked at them, to let them know he knew why they were there, but he was tired already, so he only paid attention to his granddaughter.

He held her as she needed to hold him again. He didn't know what the King's answer to her had been, but he could tell she was still determined to leave the castle with him, however she could think of to do it. "I'm so angry he wouldn't let me have any letters from you. I'm sure he's never let any of my letters reach you, either." She stalked away from him and scowled.

Bertrand allowed her to get her anger out, all her complaints, until she could be still enough to hear him. "Yes, it's true that I'm dying, and thus need you home to answer to your duty. I've chosen Sir Rhys to be your husband, to support you in your role there. He's followed by all the other knights, who respect him, and he has enough strength and understanding to help you lead the land and people."

Étoile turned to him, great surprise on her face. "But, I'm a sufficient knight!"

Bertrand paused. "You must still be the one to bear the next heir. I can't give a woman to a woman, can I?"

Étoile paused, then slumped. She turned away a little, then looked back. "But Squire Orlan is wise and will listen, where the other knights are only full of themselves and scoff when I speak."

Bertrand nodded sadly. "Sir Orlan has been knighted since then, but he is soft-spoken, so not well thought of. He won't be able to manage the other knights. Because you haven't been there to study under me, nor to show the other knights what you can do, it's already too late for you to stand on your own merits in that place."

Étoile turned to him, pleading. "But, I've been working hard here to learn what needed to be learned. Arslan has had me, from the beginning, be in charge of helping the newly released slaves learn how to still live in this land, serving as they already did, but with the proper changes so they can be freemen and women.

"He even allowed me to institute a program where those who truly wanted to return to their home nation could do so, peacefully and without guile on the part of those who were helping them. I _have_ been trying hard to learn how to lead people and work with those from many backgrounds and levels of nobility or common."

Bertrand shook his head. "That is well and good, but it still isn't the specifics of how to deal with the land we manage, nor the fine details of how to navigate in the court of Lusitania, for all I'm sure this court isn't too different. It will be just different enough, that you would need someone by your side who has learned it sufficiently."

Étoile threw down her hands in disgust. "So. You will already pass the heirship to Sir Rhys. Why bother coming to get me then?" She turned her back and folded her arms.

Quietly Bertrand said, "Because you are my granddaughter, and I wished to bring you home before I die, if I could. I couldn't see you a prisoner languishing here for this long and not worry nor care." Étoile turned her wide, concerned eyes onto him, but he turned away a little, heading for the couch. He patted the seat next to him and made her come sit with him on it.

Taking her hands in his, Bertrand said, "I can't free you from a king who has been that merciful to one who should be dead three times or more. Not even in our own land would such mercy be given for what you have done." He looked into her eyes. "Perhaps our God has placed you here for a reason He finds important. I couldn't go against that, either, if it is so."

He dropped his eyes, and tried to take a deep breath. He still had to cough, but not long. Étoile held his hands tightly through it. He looked at her again. "If King Arslan is allowing you enough freedom to do good in his land, then it is a blessing, and should be thought rightly of that way." She was surprised, but he thought she might be able to understand that much.

"And if by a miracle of God he should decide to marry you, then we would all be blessed." She tensed in utter rejection of the idea, like he'd know she probably would. He could only say one thing that might convince her to think of it rationally. "If the Queen of Pars is a believer, and sets that example, then wouldn't all of Pars see the goodness of our God? And if she teaches the King's heirs to also be believers, then hasn't she blessed all of the nation of Pars to come to His goodness?"

Étoile was glazing over. Bertrand pressed harder, to try and help her see. "If you've been in this place to bring them to the proper knowledge of the one true God, then hasn't his mercy been the mercy of the King, to keep you alive to bring many to believe?"

He coughed again, gaining her concerned attention, but he wasn't sure he'd reached her mind and heart. "If I can live the remainder of my days believing that you might be given that opportunity and blessing, or even if all you can do is live serving kindly in ways to bring light to others, then I will have been blessed enough." He gave a rueful smile. "Even if I have missed the blessings of having you in my own home and protection. It is different than was expected, but God moves in such mysterious ways."

She scowled slightly and looked away. He squeezed her hands, shaking them slightly to keep her attention away from her anger and stubbornness. "Please. Consider it reasonably. It isn't a thing to hate or fight if God has made a place here for you to do good."

She bit her lip, then looked up at him. "I don't wish to fight you on the one evening I can speak with you. I'll think about it later. I just wish there was a way to come with you."

Bertrand's eyes went to the guards on the wall. "I think he will work very hard to make sure you can't leave, with me or after me. Please do not throw your life away on such a thing. If I had known from the beginning of his mercies, I wouldn't have come, but would have already been asking for more of God's blessings to come upon you than I have been." That hadn't been insignificant. He'd thought she'd been being tortured and starved in a dungeon cell, which had weighed heavily on his heart this whole time.

"Don't let the Thayne-ship trouble you," Bertrand said. "It will be in good enough hands, for all everyone will miss you. They will also pray that you're able to bring many to the belief of the One True God. Perhaps if I leave you without further threat, King Arslan will allow us to receive each other's letters until I must go to our God myself."

Étoile threw herself into her grandfather's arms, wrapping her arms around his neck, and wept. He sorrowed with her. He was sure it had still been hard to be in this castle of strangers without family to support her for this long. To only have one short visit and then to know he would be gone from life for good was a hard thing.


	29. Stubborn Granddaughter

Étoile's eyes darted everywhere on the walk back to her apartment in the castle. It was only hers, nicely furnished, if on the small side. It was also internal to the castle. The two guards who'd gone into her grandfather's room had only been half those who'd gone with her. The other two had remained outside the rooms.

Her eyes caught sight of at least four more hidden in the shadows around her. It was irritating. Arslan wasn't going to let her escape on her walk at all.

When they arrived at her room, she noticed all four stayed to stand guard in the hall. Two on the door, two across from it to catch her if she opened the door to run. She'd played this game already with Arslan when they'd first arrived and he'd finally brought her up out of the dungeons.

It had taken his promise to give her work to do that might help her with her goal to be lord in her grandfather's stead to get her to not run away from the castle. She'd though her letters were getting to her family, too. That had been a bitter betrayal. That he'd not even allowed her family to be comforted, nor for her grandfather's pleas to be heard.

She looked around her room in irritation, then headed for the balcony. It was too high to jump from and no other balconies were close. She inspected the courtyard below. _Tripled_ guards? Not just doubled? She sighed in frustration. Arslan so didn't trust her. (Of course she never though it was because she'd taught him not to, on that first day even.)

And this time there were archers watching from the walls above, and a few balconies as well. She glared at them all, then turned and stalked back into her room. She double checked the things in her room.

No pots, no urns, no metal, nothing she could break to make a knife out of. Everything was cloth, from the rug, to the pillows, to the curtains on the wall and the bed linens. Her clothing was cloth, too, except the sandals, and was stored in a heavy wooden trunk. She could possibly break that up, if she were strong enough, but to do so would be very loud and draw the guards immediately. If she'd had anything in the room to hurt herself or others with, it had been removed.

Étoile dropped to her bed with an irritated puff of air bursting out of her lungs. She was still a prisoner of war, no matter what Arslan said or did. Hadn't he just said it today in the face of her grandfather? Everything she'd been doing up until then had been a sham, a way to keep her quiet in the castle. Her rage soared for a long time.

When the serving girl came in to help her get ready for bed, Étoile sent her right back out, scolding her. She refused the food as well. She would go on a fast and refuse anything. Arslan wasn't honorable and Étoile would let him know she knew it.

That was okay for the first day and a half, during which time she even refused to leave her quarters. Once she was hungry enough, her emotions couldn't take it any longer and she cried herself to sleep. The whole world had conspired against her.

How could her grandfather have even thought that she would _want_ to be left behind? What right did Arslan have to keep her alive? Just for his own entertainment? She'd thought she'd been doing good things. Had he just been using her, or toying with her? She didn't know any more and couldn't think clearly about it anyway she was so hungry.

"Please, mistress, eat something," the poor serving girl pleaded, desperate to not get into trouble, no doubt.

Étoile shook her head and turned away, waving the girl to leave the room. The smell was both making her stomach nauseous and her body desperate to dive into it to stuff her face full. She walked out onto the balcony and looked down, not much thought in her head.

There was a cry and suddenly guards were in her room, pulling her back from the balcony. She struggled a little, but her weakness from lack of food didn't get her very far. Her head was too full of stuffing to pay much attention to the words being said around her.

Instead of leaving her in the room, she was taken out of it and walked longer than she wanted to walk. The guards left her in another room. It had even less furniture in it, no windows, no doors save the one she'd entered from. It did have a mattress on the carpeted floor, and wall hangings on the walls to keep it from becoming too chilly.

Dully she looked around. She wasn't really sleepy, but with no energy, she lay down anyway. Étoile was awoken by the door to the room opening. She looked over her shoulder to see Arslan enter the room. "Go away," she demanded and put her head back down.

He didn't, but then he usually ignored her demands. Instead he sat down on the carpet next to her bed. "Won't you please eat?" he requested, holding out bread in his hand. She could smell it very well, her hunger was so sharp.

"I won't take any more of your false kindness nor charity," she answered him.

He stiffened. He'd never really understood her. Always been so self-centered.

"I like you, Étoile. It isn't false kindness."

"If you only want a toy to interest your mind, I'm not interested," she snarled at him. "I didn't ask you to save me any of those times. How is it a mercy when you've only kept me prisoner here from my family, until you were only willing to allow my dying grandfather his last request? Go away." She didn't see the pain on his face, but she didn't believe it anyway.

"I won't leave until you eat something," he finally said.

"Then plan on starving with me," she answered coldly. She ignored him until she fell asleep again. When she awoke, Arslan was gone, but the bread was on her bed next to her. She picked it up and threw it into the corner and ignored it. Of course his retainers wouldn't let him stay in the room. He was a King with responsibilities, not someone who could sit with a single prisoner for days on end. She didn't want him to anyway.

Étoile was in and out of consciousness regularly after that. When her body demanded it _had_ to have water, she drank sparingly. Too much water made her stomach nauseous again. Otherwise, she ignored her body and only lay on her bed. Arslan came and went, but most of the time she didn't know or care.

She came to, feeling a light touch brushing on her forehead. She looked up to see Arslan's worried face, pinched as he looked at her. "Please, Étoile," he said gently, the worry not going away. "Please, eat."

She mutely shook her head at him.

"What can I do?" he asked her.

"Send me home," she croaked out around her parched throat.

Arslan's face didn't leave worried, but it went neutral. She watched him as he sat from the crouch next to her. His hand stayed lightly on her head. She didn't have the strength to toss it off or to hit it off either.

He put his hands in his lap and put his fingers together, pursing his lips while he thought. Finally he said, "Étoile, I don't want to." She glared as best she could. "I want you to be my Queen." Étoile blinked at him as her mouth dropped open. "I want you to live and stand next to me. Please." His blue eyes, so watery in his pale face and white hair, pleaded with her.

"I don't love you," she answered immediately.

Arlsan shrugged. "You don't have to, although I'd like it if you could learn to eventually. That's not as important as standing by my side and serving like you already have been. Those who were once slaves are very grateful to you for the help you've given them since things changed in Pars. I'm grateful for the help that has been as well.

"You're strong enough to tell anyone who might try to influence you to get to me that you won't." His eyes blinked at her. "And I think you are beautiful. Even if you won't love me, will you let me love you?"

Étoile closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. She couldn't believe that her grandfather's words were coming true. She hadn't come into Pars to become it's _Queen_. She'd come in to see all the heretics died. She hadn't let him live because she cared about him. She'd tried to kill him. Three times even. "How can you even think I'm trustworthy enough to stand next to you when that's the best place to kill you from?" she demanded, her eyes opening to glare at him again.

Arslan sighed and looked down, not answering the question. Eventually he said, "Because you also haven't been able to kill me, either, although you also had multiple opportunities to."

Étoile drew in a sharp breath. It was true, that she'd not had the stomach to kill him. She'd found every reason not to, actually, each time. But that didn't mean she wanted to be _married_ to him. "I couldn't do it," she said sullenly. "I couldn't ever be wife to a heretic and nonbeliever."

"Am I really only still that to you?" he asked softly. She could tell he didn't believe it, although she'd never given him cause to think otherwise. She fought down the body's attraction to him one more time. She didn't like it when it did that - betrayed her male soul that fought to be the heir to his grandfather. This one had stripped that from her, stolen it long before she even knew it.

She turned her face and refused to speak to him. He eventually sighed and rose to go. "Please, think about it. I'm very serious." She continued to ignore him, waiting for the door to close behind him. Then she silently cried, wishing for her happiness and hope that had been stripped from her.


	30. Suicide

The cry of the serving maid as she'd just entered Étoile's room drew her guards into it quickly. The maid had her hands over her mouth, the tray of food fallen on the floor, the meal scattered around her feet.

The guards scanned the room, then stood stunned, until one turned and ran down the hallway, calling for the King. The other three guards had Étoile's body lying on the floor again by the time he arrived in the doorway, his face pale and breathing hard from the run.

"What happened," he demanded.

The maid whimpered, her hands over her eyes as if she'd erase the sight that had greeted her that morning. She dropped to her knees and bowed over them. "I'm so-sorry, My Lord." Her stomach heaved as if to empty itself, but she managed to control it. "Lady Étoile has hung herself this last night on the bedclothes, from the staff of the wall hanging." She was trembling violently at having to tell.

Arlsan couldn't believe it. He stood there stunned, then with wide strides was beside the still form. Her neck was bruised and twisted. "How did she get it over the staff?" he asked, harsh with his confusion and disbelief.

"It appears she tied it to her sandal. It would have still taken a lot of patient effort, My Leige," a guard answered.

"There was nothing for her to stand on," Arslan still refused.

The guards could only shake their heads. In his anger and grief he had them all arrested and questioned, wanting to know if they'd allowed someone within the castle in to do it as a murder so he couldn't marry her. He knew almost all of the lords wouldn't countenance the marriage. If any of them had overheard him, or had thought he might, they would have acted.

Even Merkan was suspect for having already voiced his contention with the possibility, although he was still not yet arrived with Daryun from their training outside the city. They were expected soon, though.

Narsus took Arslan and sat with him. Answering his questions as best he could, trying to save as many innocent people in the castle from his unreasoning anger and grief without dying himself. Finally Arslan's emotions wore him out and Narsus could tuck him into bed with Elam's assistance. They sat and watched over him, a little afraid that Arslan would decide to imitate Étoile and either starve himself or kill himself.

"It's what they all did from the beginning, Arslan," Narsus said sadly when Arslan woke again. "If they were left with no other thing than their belief and living under our rule, they chose death."

Arslan knew, just like he'd grieved it every time. Just like he knew the strength of Étoile would likely have pushed her there eventually. For days he lay on his bed, letting the emotions go through him. Anger that the grandfather had shown up to push Étoile to finally doing what he'd been carefully trying to not have happen. Anger that it had been right when he'd thought he understood Étoile enough she wouldn't reject his desire to care for her.

He'd wanted to believe that because he desired Étoile, the Goddess had really meant her when Neylan had said the Goddess was preparing his Queen. Hadn't her grandfather even pressed for it? Why was she always so stubborn and blind, so as to not see his kindness and his caring?

The emotions and thoughts went round and round. He would let them as he lay in his bed until he fell asleep again. They made him eat on the second day, but he only ate the minimum and refused the rest. He also refused to see anyone. He could deal with Narsus or Elam's quiet, but everyone else was too loud, carried too much energy with them.

"Will you have a funeral?" Narsus asked him quietly on the third day. "At least you should properly say goodbye, if you truly loved her, or it will be your greatest regret."

Arslan had been getting angry but the last phrase brought him up short. He knew it would be true, whether what he felt was love or not. His feelings for Étoile were very complex. They always had been. To be so hated and used, but yet left alive, brought to trying to understand again and again even while he tried to bring her to understanding. They'd never been able to meet in the middle or otherwise, yet somehow they had.

She'd been willing to help her people, then the released slaves. She'd been able to sit at the table with him to eat, and sometimes even smile until she realized what she was doing and scolded herself. Why hadn't she been able to understand those moments and relax?

Arslan closed his eyes and tears fell from their corners. "I tried so hard, Narsus."

A soft hand came on his arm. "I know," his friend and councilor said quietly. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Arslan was grateful that his friend was willing to offer the simple, kind sympathy he needed. He lay there, his hands interlinked over his chest for a while. It was also true that he couldn't leave his throne for long. The people and the nobles would have patience while he recovered, but they wouldn't understand if it took long for someone like her, even if she had deep meaning to him.

"Two days," he said. "A private one, just the inner circle. Ask Farengis to sing the prayer. I'll read the Lusitanian prayer from the book." His heart clenched and tears leaked out again. "You'll all keep it secret. Her grandfather and land aren't to know. He didn't know my purpose, for all he understood it was a possibility. Let him die believing it can still be a possibility."

He turned his face away from Narsus. Narsus rose to his feet, bowed, and left the room to give the orders. Arslan knew at least one of his other guardians was in the room, but he ignored whomever it was, returning to his own inner grieving.


	31. To Be Brothers

Daryun and Merkan didn't arrive back at the castle until two weeks after Étoile died. Arslan didn't know it was because Narsus sent men to delay them on purpose to keep Arslan from having cause to blame his brother.

They strode into the council chamber and bowed at the end of council area, Daryun going down on one knee, his hand to his breast, in higher apology. "I'm sorry we've arrived late, King Arslan. We were beset upon and hounded. It was excellent practice for Merkan, but delayed us far more than I wanted it to.

"We stopped by Tarkhan Citadel two weeks ago to confirm they were still loyal to you and in good order. I had hoped to ride hard from there, but just after that was where we ran into the bandits. Please forgive us." His eyes took in the slightly sober council room and Arslan's drawn face. His own face sobered. "What is it?"

Arslan studied both men for a bit, still finding it hard to care about much of anything, then looked away. "Étoile's grandfather came to the castle about three weeks after you left, demanding to see his granddaughter. I refused to let her go, and he couldn't deny me, because I claimed right of mercy on a murder of the king."

While it looked like Daryun could understand his cause, he was still waiting to understand. "Because he was ill, I allowed them to meet once. After, Étoile refused to eat for seven days." He took a breath and looked down at his fingers. "I begged her many times to eat, and she refused every time. We had to move her from her rooms so she wouldn't leap from the balcony. I thought the new room safe enough, but it wasn't." His face twisted with grief.

"In desperation I told her why I wouldn't release her - because I wanted her to be my Queen." He looked up, trying to not let the tears out. "It was enough to make her hang herself in that room that night. That was two weeks ago."

The father and the son froze, stunned at the news. "I'm very sorry, My Liege," Daryun said quietly. For all he knew Étoile was like that, he also knew that Arslan had cared deeply and had been trying very hard.

They were all still for a moment, then Merkan rose to his feet. Arslan was surprised that Merkan walked all the way up the center of the meeting space and knelt right in front of him. He put his hands on his thighs and looked into Arslan's face calmly, deeply looking at him.

Arslan wasn't sure he wanted Merkan that close, nor was he sure what he would say or do, since he'd been against Étoile becoming Queen before. Still, he tried to settle enough to listen.

"King Arslan," Merkan said quietly, "she was your first companion in battle. Your bond brother. It is right to grieve the passing of such a one, of great and noble spirit. She was one with the heart of a Marzbān, willing to fight until the end to see that what she felt was right and worth her loyalty was defended to her last breath."

His blue eyes held Arslan's until Arslan's eyes overfilled with tears that poured down his cheeks. Merkan was right. He'd been wishing to hold that in his hand, for all he never could have. They'd been on opposite sides from the beginning, but he'd seen in her, even the youth that had dragged him down to the city wall, that spirit that he had always held in highest honor - the spirit of the Marzbān who was more than a general.

Merkan sat silently with Arslan as Arslan grieved, the tears coursing down his cheeks. When they ran their course, a cloth was handed to Arslan to clean his face with so he didn't have to use the sleeve of his embroidered robe. Merkan's blue eyes were still waiting patiently for him when he looked up again.

"You gave Étoile things to do here that she could do. In that you showed proper understanding and honor to her conviction. We are all grateful you did that much. Even she was grateful to not have her hands idle, as we all who strive in that same way would have been grateful. You honored her in that."

Merkan sat quietly again studying Arslan until Arslan accepted his words. His heart shouted at him all of his faults and missteps, but he knew any Marzbān would have rather been used in that way than left to idle or be ignored in a dungeon.

"Then, will you remember that nobility with prideful anger and a betrayal of your path, or will you use it to remind you of the sacred duty you have, to bring honor to her memory and her name?" The challenge was said quietly, but it pricked Arslan. He had been teetering between that prideful anger that would pull him from his determined path, and listless uncaring. Neither of those would honor anyone with the kind of strong spirit Étoile had held in her.

She might not have agreed with all of his policies, nor his beliefs, but she would definitely be very disappointed if he gave up all his strength over his grief for her or anyone. It wouldn't honor her strength that he had admired and loved to not live with his own strength. His side felt very cold and lonely, though.

Over the next months, Merkan's warmth slowly filled that place for Arslan. He would be present at odd quiet times, speaking when Arslan wanted to, silently there when Arslan needed the silence. Finally, he asked, "Merkan, why have you stayed so close by my side?"

Because they were in private, Merkan answered quietly, "Because I know what it is to have a brother who has left your side. It is cold and lonely. I couldn't leave you in that state when I am here."

Arslan went from surprised to rueful. He looked away before the tear could come or be seen. "Thank you, Merkan," he said softly.


	32. Emin's Arrival

Emin was finally about to step foot in the capital city of Pars. He'd been learning just as much about Pars as he had about all the other countries. As he'd rather expected, it wasn't much prettier.

A good ruler did end up with more good people running things, and less crime and despotism from the lords, but they had to be paying attention at those levels, too, and he wasn't sure how much King Arslan was. He wouldn't really know that until he made it to the castle, though, so until then he'd just memorized things to tell the king when he got there.

Emin also wasn't exactly sure who was in Narsus' information network. Thus he kept his connections brief and friendly, and still as if he was only an eye from Sindhura. He'd learned a lot on his rounds through the countries about things like that.

He'd learned to make friends in the underworld before even letting people know what he brokered in. In that process, he'd learned how to tell who could become a friend of the sort he needed and who couldn't. The goal being that he could meet with them again much later and still gain information.

He'd had to learn fast how to be a "foreign" spy. That was rather difficult, but somehow at the same time easier. As if the underworld understood that he'd be moving on, and he would only be interested in specific types of information (which was definitely true). He'd learned to start at the taverns on the way in. It hadn't hurt to let the capital city's underworld know he was coming in to give them time to decide if they'd let him stay or run him out.

Of course, he was just a traveler at that first. Hearing what any traveler heard in any tavern or inn. It was staying around for a month or more and still doing that (and the odd menial labor job to pay to sit in them and eat) that let the underworld know he wasn't just "passing through".

When he'd been ready to hear more details of what went on behind the walls of the castle, and the closed doors in it, those with the information had been ready to know if he wanted to hear it. That had led to lots of lessons like: was the information what the king wanted fed to him?, was it truth?, was the friendly information less trustworthy than the furtive whispers behind hands that then fled?

He was confused a lot for a while, until the Goddess stepped in to help him learn how to hear truth and lie from those who lied all the time. That had been the blessing he'd needed to finally come into his own. He was confident in that much so now only focused on gathering the information in ways that wouldn't get him marked or killed.

He stood looking at the walls of Ecbatana and the castle above it as the city as a whole rose up to completely fill and surround a tall hill. With three concentric circling walls around the city, and then the walls of the castle, it was a very defensible city.

Emin knew, like those who knew the details of the war knew, that it had fallen from the inside. The waterways hadn't been watched properly. He didn't think for a moment that King Arslan left them undefended. He would remember that for his whole life, and teach it strictly to his heirs.

Emin paused in his normal habit now, to listen before he walked into the city. He was answered this time. "Go first to King Arslan and make your report. If you should run into your brother, be kind so he knows you remember him fondly, but beg leave to reunite after your duty is complete."

He paused as he considered those words. "Well, but is that without learning what the words in the city are first?" He received an affirmation. That surprised him, but he would obey. Of course, getting into the castle was another matter. He'd rather hoped to be able to call on that relationship if he had to, but maybe not.

He walked into the city and started through the hustle and bustle up towards the castle. He noticed he had a few people look him over with interest. He memorized what they looked like, but didn't stop to talk to anyone. When he reached the outer castle wall with its gates, he pondered them, then walked around to the kitchen and servant's gate. Someone looking like him wasn't going to be let into the main gate without a lot of fuss.

The guard looked him up and down. "I've been sent for," he said mildly.

He and the guard both were surprised when a voice on the inside said, "Well, let him in then. He's not one to make delay." They both looked over and saw an older man looking at Emin. Emin wasn't sure who he was, but the guard bowed and unlocked the gate to let Emin in.

Once he was inside the gate, Emin bowed to the man who'd been passing by and granted him entrance. "Thank you," he said softly. "Do you know which way I'm to go this time?"

The man pointed to an upper tower on the center right. "Up there."

"Thank you," Emin bowed again and took himself off, rather bemused, but he thanked the Goddess anyway.

At the next blockage, which was after he'd asked direction several times from maids and paiges who were hurrying on other errands, he was facing what was probably the royal quarters generally. "I've been sent for," he said again in his soft voice.

"This way then," the guard turned and led him to the third door down. Emin almost fell down, or turned and walked away. It was very hard to believe that he wouldn't even be questioned. The guard knocked on the door, waited for the entrance to be called, and opened the door for him.

Emin walked into a room he recognized. He'd been there once before, that first day they'd been taken to their fathers' for their apprenticeships. He stopped at the far end of the meeting space and bowed. The entirety of the room had stopped talking and were staring at him during that walk.

"I have come to begin my duty to King Arslan of Pars," Emin said simply.

"To _begin_?"

"Why are you here?"

"Aren't you Jaswant?"

Emin's eyes opened wide at that last one. "Do I look like it?" he asked. "I haven't looked at myself for a very long time. Since I was quite small." He was very tall and thin now.

There was a soft chuckling that went to a laugh. Narsus was quite humored. "And you were just let in, all the way from the city gates?"

"Yes, sir," Emin answered humbly. "I was quite surprised myself, although I did consider the main castle gate too daunting to face for anyone that looks like me in this nation."

"That was wisdom, then," Narsus said.

Arslan finally slumped back. "Oh. It's that time, is it, then?"

Emin answered back, "Yes. My report will be very, very long. Do you want it now, or after you've had time to eat and sleep very well first? It will also depress you, so you should smile a lot first."

Lots of people slumped at that jest. "You really are a lot like your father, even more than in looks," Arslan said to him.

"Thank you," Emin bowed. "My name is Emin." He'd already noted that his brother and Daryun were missing from the room.

Narsus shifted. "The full report should come to me first, so as to not take up the time of this body. If there are details they need to know, I'll have you say them after then."

"And do you hide what happens in Pars from the King of it, then?" Emin raised his eyebrow at Narsus. "There are many things he needs to know directly of his own nation."

Narsus shook his head. "He and I have have a separate meeting for those details. Not everything needs everyone's ears and mind on them." Emin relented.

"Have you rested or eaten?" Arslan asked.

"I began walking before dawn this morning and caught a dove for breakfast, Your Majesty," Emin answered. "Other than that, I have come straight here."

"Then we'll let you rest first," Arslan said kindly. "Elam, have the maids open Jaswant's rooms and prepare them for Emin."

Narsus raised a hand. "How many maids did you speak with on the way here?"

"Several," Emin answered. "I had to ask directions of someone to find this place."

"Likely they've already begun, then," Narsus said philosophically. "I'll send Elam to fetch you, or come to your quarters myself after a time, but he can take you there. No one will question that. Just act like you've always known him."

"That isn't hard," Emin said quietly with a smile. He already knew all of these, even if they didn't know him.

Indeed, he was able to bring up a time from the war for the two of them to talk about, surprising Elam at first, but he fell into the reminiscing rather quickly. When they were at his rooms, which maids bowed themselves out of and promised to send food and drink to as Narsus had predicted, Emin said a little sadly. "Some days, I miss those times." He threw Elam a sad smile. "But only when I'm not so very busy."

Elam closed the door behind him and stayed in the room. He frowned. "Are you sure you're not Jaswant?"

"I'm not he," Emin refused. "I did, however, walk those times with all of you."

Elam paused, narrowing his eyes, then they cleared to go wide. "Actually, he said that, too. That he'd walked them with us, learning from the Goddess."

Emin froze. "He?"

"Daryun's heir. He said rather a lot, actually." Elam turned for the door. "Likely far more than you'll be willing to, given you're this much like your father." He gave a slight mischievous smile and left the quarters.

Emin unfroze and sighed. His brother really couldn't keep his mouth shut when he felt the need to be honest. He hoped it was very few who really understood who he was.

He got to learn that right away, as soon as Narsus walked in the door with the King. Emin rose to his feet from resting on the couch and bowed to them. "Please be seated, if you wish," he offered.

They didn't just then. Arslan looked him in the eyes. It had been a while for Emin to see that blue. His birthday had been a long time ago. Quietly Arslan said, "I know who your brother is. Do you know who I am?"

"The King of Pars, Arslan," Emin answered back immediately. Then he had a memory he had to pull on to remember, from way back when he'd last talked to his father. His eyes went to Narsus. "When did you learn of it?"

"When we were researching who his parents were, we learned who his mother was, but didn't tell him then."

Emin looked back at Arslan, "But since then you've learned something? Who told you?"

Arslan blinked. "I knew she was my mother the day she brought the two of you into my chamber and disappeared again. I confronted her, but did it in front of Merkan not knowing. It came out then."

Emin took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My father told me, years ago, when I last spoke to him personally. It was very surprising, but he wanted to know for himself what I would do before he let me go alive to learn what I needed to learn."

"And you're still alive, I see," Narsus said dryly.

"Even so," Emin tipped his head in agreement. "Just as he fulfilled a duty to have me, I will fulfill mine. I only ask that my words be heard and heeded. To go to so much effort and threat to my own life, to then be ignored will make me angry. Decide today if I will walk out of here and be the person _I_ wish to be, or if you value what I can bring to you enough." He folded his arms.

There was silence for a bit, then Arslan said slowly, "Well, today. That is very short for someone like me who must consider all things carefully. And you haven't proven your side yet, to make me understand why I should want to."

"When you're ready," Emin answered.

Arslan immediately went to the cushions on the floor. "Tell of Pars first," he said.

Emin opened up his mind and memory and allowed the words to spill forth of every city, village, province, and area he'd visited. "I can't tell you of the capital city yet. I wasn't allowed by the Goddess to take the time, being sent here directly," he ended.

Arslan and Narsus sat in silence, digesting the news. Then they began with the region that most interested them and discussed in front of Emin everything they had concerns for, where holes had been filled, and further questions that the information brought out.

Emin listened to it all, adding to his own list things he could learn about next. He wasn't too surprised when Narsus gave him specific things to focus on, though. He knew Narsus would have his own contacts.

He raised a hand and they let him speak. "If I'm going to take your place as the next head of intelligence, I would like the next training to be meeting your informants and contacts, so they can know I'm that heir by your own mouth. And so I can learn it from this side. I've only been the seeker so far, not the one who knows what information is needed."

"I will," Narsus promised, with the expectation hanging in the air that an "if" was attached, since this was the testing.

The meeting was very long, as Emin had warned. Once they were done discussing Pars, Arslan excused himself and Narsus and Emin met until very late in the evening. Elam brought them food and drink, and took it away again.

When Emin's report was done, and Narsus had put it all into his internal picture, he asked a few specific questions about a few of the nations and their king's movements and again made a very few specific wishes for more information.

Then Narsus turned it around and told Emin everything his spies had already told him. He explained how he put the whole into an understanding of what was going on within and between the nations. Emin was able to follow him for the most part, and asked questions when he couldn't. It was rather fun to finally have a tangible teacher again. They were scolded to bed by Elam before too much later, however.


	33. Reunion

Emin arrived outside the king's council chamber after breakfast, a little early. He paused before entering, seeing Daryun and Narsus also arriving. He went to bow to the two greatest of Arslan's advisors, when the Daryun he was seeing also bowed to him.

"It is an honor to get to greet the Hero Jaswant," Daryun said, surprising Emin a little, although he quickly remembered that the advisors had also said that he looked the same.

At the same time as he was looking into blue eyes and wondering why, an older Daryun arrived with a, "Good morning, everyone."

"Ah, I see," Emin said, his lip quirking up. Narsus was already trying to not tease. "There is old Daryun behind young Daryun, and here I am also the same."

Daryun's confused look fell on Emin. "Jaswant? Here? Really?"

Emin shook his head. "No. I am young Jaswant, not old. Like him," he pointed to Merkan. "My father looks like you - his age. I am Emin." He bowed again, this time to Daryun properly.

He watched Daryun's eyes carefully, then sighed to himself. "I've warned Jaswant already. He doesn't care and says he wouldn't have done it at all save he was convinced that you and King Arslan would need to have at least one of him here, even if it wasn't him specifically. He will give you no contest, if you really care to catch a wild mare like that one. He only thinks the whole family is odd. You may have it if you can win it."

Daryun's eyes went wide, then his hand went to his head in disbelieving dejection. Narsus laughed uproariously. Emin went very serious. "Other than needing to say that, it never happened and I am newly come from his training and nothing else."

Daryun gave a weary nod. "We are already all in agreement, but you need to know the final piece."

Merkan frowned. "Does he have to? I didn't like having to learn it."

Emin raised an eyebrow, then slumped and sighed. "No. Jaswant told me, to give me warning. I don't really want to know it either. The King has already agreed to the silence." All three in front of him nodded.

Their eyes went beyond Emin's shoulder. His ears could hear the footsteps. Others from the inner council were arriving. They all went into the council chamber together to begin the day's labors.


	34. Is it a Win in the End?

Daryun was feeling his age. He was quite glad to finally be resting in his rooms for the evening. It was now about fifteen years since Merkan had come to the palace to be trained. Daryun was very glad he had. He was standing strong in his place.

Arslan wasn't letting Daryun have vacations from the council chamber, but he was spared the requirement of being the guard. That was enough. He quite trusted Merkan's arm and his wisdom. It was good that Merkan had Emin to lean on like Daryun had leaned on Jaswant.

Arslan was properly married to a Queen now, as well, who'd become pregnant with an heir for Pars almost immediately. Arslan had recovered sufficiently from his grief to be able to carry the kingdom again, but had still been sorrowful enough to be spending more time in gardens than in the court. The daughter of a noble had been visiting her father at the court and Arslan had chanced upon her in one of those garden walks. They'd struck up a conversation, she'd been sympathetic, and things had fallen from there.

Daryun still smiled when he remembered Merkan's sigh and roll of the eyes when he'd heard that story. "That's how the Goddess works through the King," he'd said, almost morosely. "Congratulate him, be glad the kingdom will finally have an heir for all he's already more than ten years too late, and move on."

Daryun enjoyed having his son living in his apartments now, to be a friend and companion. Almost more he enjoyed watching Merkan blush at the young ladies who were trying to woo him now that the King wasn't eligible. He thought there was one who might just be able to do it in another half-year or so, if she stayed persistent through Merkan's busy-ness.

There was a sudden feeling to the air in the room that made Daryun spin around. The priestess always liked to show up behind him for some reason. It made his back itch, expecting the knife blow. His slight scowl disappeared into some level of shock. He blinked at the priestess. "Ah, She's ready to replace you, then?" Neylan had aged, a thing the priestesses didn't do, and she hadn't any of the times until this one.

Of course this was the very first time she'd come since he'd tried to tempt her into his arms just before Merkan had come. She'd been formal and cold to him at the bringing of the boy. He'd assumed he'd not see her ever again, being punished by the Goddess for his hubris.

Daryun frowned. "But, you never did come again for the daughter?

Neylan sighed. "She took me back and scolded me fiercely, then refused, saying you wouldn't let me go for sure if I did. Honestly, She couldn't be rid of me fast enough. She was firm that She'd be training my daughter up the way She wanted her to be raised, so I didn't taint her with my strong will."

"Still," he continued to frown at her. "It's been long enough for you to look almost my age now. I'd been hoping to prevent some of that, too."

Neylan rolled her eyes at Daryun. "And you'd like me to bring my sister's curse with me, then?"

Daryun's eyes went wide. "Ah, I didn't say that, no." He hastily rethought that one. For Neylan to come when she actually looked mature enough to be nearly his age, perhaps he wouldn't die for someone else coveting her beauty.

"I could go back?" Neylan pointed over her shoulder, turning enough to look like she might actually leave.

Daryun had her in his arms quickly. "No, I think not. Not if She's giving you up finally, and letting me have my desired blessing." His lips were pressing to hers before he was quite ready himself, but he'd kind of learned to move fast before she could disappear again.

"Honestly," he scolded them both, holding her close and putting his forehead on hers to look at her closely, "I'm still not sure why I want it. You're the most difficult woman I know, save Étoile who was more man than woman." Neylan moved under his hands, her hip shifting to brush near his. Daryun swallowed. _That would be one reason, sure_ , he thought, but didn't say it.

"I'm not sure why I should stay," she answered back similarly. "You're more beast than man, and I've not seen any examples of men who are worth staying with in all my years of watching them."

"Then why do you keep coming back?" he asked her, running his hand over the side of her face and over her ear and hair.

She moved to the touch, letting her head tip and he was gripping her head, trying to remember to be gentle as his lips sought her lips, then her jaw and neck. "Because I wanted to," she answered finally, a hand running up his belly to his chest, then around his shoulder, making the pathway tingle.

"I thought She made you go to whomever She wanted," Daryun murmured, running a finger under the back of the neck of her dress, making her shudder.

That was too much for him. "Come, warm my bed with me and stay this time," he requested, already pulling her as he walked backwards towards it. He paused just as they reached it and pulled back to glare in her eyes. "But, no - more - children!"

Neylan laughed at him. "Four was enough, and more than enough to be _those_ four. If I'm to finally have you, I'll keep you to myself, I think." Her lips came for his this time. He let her light push take them onto the bed.

The question did come up in Daryun's mind just before he lost himself, _Would Arslan be okay with this?_ He'd already gotten the permission from the other two sons. He'd forgotten to ask that one. It made the part of him that had any reason left wince, but he'd worry about it later. He'd been waiting for a very long time for this moment.


End file.
